


Recollections and Impressions

by GeorgeOaks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/F, Fluff, Forgetful Castiel, Gentle Dean, Good Brother Gabriel, Good Parent John Winchester, Hannah is Dead, John Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Lawyer Sam, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Medical Patient Castiel, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Murder Mystery, Nosy Dean, Not Beta Read, Not Sam Bashing, Oblivious Castiel, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Psychiatric Patient Castiel, Repressed Memories, Tags May Change, Worried Dean Winchester, but like, murder case, you find that out in chapter one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgeOaks/pseuds/GeorgeOaks
Summary: Dean Winchester agreed to help his fancy, overworked lawyer of a brother on a case by interviewing the only witness to a murder. Problem was, though... there was a reason the witness lived in a psychiatric hospital, and this only witness to the brutal crime couldn't remember a damn thing - except Dean.





	1. Memories are Made of This

Yep. He was going to kill Sam.

True, Dean did agree to do this, but he was pointedly ignoring that fact as he stood in the rec room of New Life Psychiatric Hospital’s long-term care unit.

He watched as an old woman in a floral nightgown sitting in a wheelchair by the wall, kept pinching the wall, then tossing the imaginary-whatever at Dean. He was trying to school his features into neutral, but he was honestly getting annoyed by the woman. She was all the way across the room, even. What in the hell did she think she was accomplishing?

Truth was, Dean remembered the murder when it happened. It was all over the news. Everyone felt sorry for the poor woman who was brutally slaughtered – a mentally ill woman at that. Whoever did it had to be sick. They had a suspect in custody, but they didn’t have very much evidence. Sam was all over the case, working at the District Attorney’s office. It had become his life. Which was why he ended up double booking himself. He was across town doing something for the case, and Dean was here, filling in.

When Sam was still in law school, Dean would help him study the right way to interview people. He had a lot of fun doing it, pretending to be all sorts of witnesses, victims, and murderers, but that also meant he knew the drill.

The man he was here to interview was the only witness to the murder. Problem was, Sam said this witness had severe memory problems. Sam already interviewed this guy three times, and each time did give them new evidence. So, they were going to keep interviewing him. Dean didn’t know how many times dude was going to be questioned, but he was, all in all, happy to help. Even if Sam warned him it was going to be difficult.

He just didn’t really think this through. This was a long-term care unit. A lot of these patients weren’t getting out. He might very well be waiting to interview a bad-shit-crazy dude. If that old woman didn’t successfully hit Dean with her imaginary wall pieces and kill him first.

“Mr. Winchester?” one of the nurses called, getting his attention.

She was leading a man to a sitting area and motioning Dean over. Assuming this was the man he needed to interview, he went over with his winning smile planted on.

“Hello. I’m Dean Winchester,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand for the man to shake.

The man smiled, warm and pleasant. His eyes twinkled with pure innocence and kindness. Jesus, Dean hoped Sam was able to put the murderer away, but maybe it was best if this dude didn’t remember the murder.

“Hello,” the man nodded, taking Dean’s hand in both of his. “My name is Castiel.”

Dean shook his hands once then let go.

“I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, you know where to find me,” the nurse said, smiling at both of them before turning away.

Castiel, donned in soft looking jeans and a light beige sweater, sat on the couch pushed up against the windows. Dean, wearing his best suit, took the armchair adjacent, setting a briefcase of case files next to him.

“How can I help you?” Castiel asked, a small smile on his face as he gave Dean his undivided attention.

Dean was pretty sure they must have told Castiel why Dean was here, so he immediately marked that as something forgotten. He wondered what kind of memory wonk this guy had. “I’m here to ask you about the murder that took place here a few months back.”

The man’s eyebrows went up in apparent surprise. “A murder?”

Dean nodded. Well, he guessed he wasn’t going to get much from Castiel if they were starting off like this. Dean didn’t even bother getting out his notepad and pen, instead just leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yes. A woman was killed on the second floor in this unit. You were the only witness.”

Castiel blinked a couple of times before his brows furrowed. “That is unfortunate.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry you had to go through that.”

“I am as well. However, I meant it was unfortunate I am the only witness.”

Dean shrugged. “You’ve already helped a lot. Not your fault if you can’t remember everything.”

“I’ve helped?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “My brother, Sam? He’s one of the lawyers on the case. He’s been by, asked you a few questions. I’m just filling in for him, following up in case you remembered anything.”

Castiel sighed. “Then I am sorry for the trip you’ve made.”

Dean nodded, his attention caught by the old woman again. She looked angrier than before, Dean guessed because he was ignoring her. He cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward, and returned back to Castiel. “Well, is it okay I still question you, see if we can jog anything loose in there?” he asked, gesturing towards Castiel’s head.

“Of course,” the man agreed, crossing his legs with a calf on his knee, relaxing against the couch.

Dean smiled at him. “So, the murder took place on July 18th at night near one of the nurse’s stations. Time of death was around midnight.”

“Hm,” Castiel hummed, eye focusing more sharply on Dean. “Then something must have woken me up.”

Huh. Alright. Dean nodded, finally pulling out his notepad, and quickly wrote down that Cas… Castiel? He tried to spell it a couple of times, but eventually crossed it out and wrote: _Cas was woken up_. He could ask the guy how to spell his name, but he figured it was probably best not to interrupt dude’s train of thought for fear of causing a memory to go.

“And why is that?” Dean asked, looking back up at Castiel.

“Because every night at ten thirty, I take Trazodone to sleep. I am usually asleep by eleven.”

Dean scribbled _~~Tradonezone~~ ~~Trayazone~~ Sleeping pills 2230 asleep by 2300_

“Alright,” Dean said. He was not good at this, he quickly decided. Throwing out what he remembered from helping Sam practice, he decided to go with his gut. Castiel’s thought process was clearly different from most people if something wasn’t right in the noggin, so Dean needed to just gently guide, getting to Castiel’s bottom line, not anyone else’s. “Tell me about these pills.”

Without missing a beat, like Castiel was already thinking about them ( _score one for me_ , Dean thought), he answered, “They are an antidepressant that aids in sleeping. They are pretty strong, but I have been on them for a while. I will eventually need to switch to something else, as the medication will lose its effectiveness over time. Currently, one pill does help me fall asleep and stay asleep, but it does not keep me asleep if I am woken up.”

Dean quickly shorthanded that information, wondering if Castiel naturally spoke that proper or if he was reciting a doctor, and asked, “What kind of things normally wake you up?”

“I don’t wake up often. Not on medication. Though…” he trailed off, thoughtful, Dean clearly seeing something spark behind his eyes. “I can think of three incidences that I have been woken up in the room I think I’m still staying in.”

Dean smiled. “That’s great, Castiel. Can you tell them to me?”

Castiel smiled back, a bit fuller than before. “Once was from a thunderstorm, once was from a bad reaction to new medication, and once from a loud noise.”

Dean nodded, writing down _TS, meds, loud noise._

“Can you tell me about the loud noise?”

Castiel’s face fell a little. “I remember hearing it. I remember wondering what it was. I remember wondering where I was. I remember lights turning on, the ones in my room are automatic, triggered by movement. There was a note on the door telling me where I was. I remember hearing a noise again and deciding to ignore the note’s instruction to stay in my room and push the call button if I needed anything. I remember… I believe I left the room,” he ended, seemingly a little defeated from not being able to catch the memory.

“That’s amazing, Cas,” Dean praised, so focused on getting the information down, he totally forgot the guy’s full name. “That’s really great.”

“It is helpful?” the man asked, and the hopeful tone of his voice forced Dean to look up.

He met the guy’s eyes and immediately decided this man deserved all the praise in the world. He looked just so damn innocent. “It really is. Thank you so much.”

Dean was met with a 1000 watt smile, gums and all. He returned it, briefly going back to his notes to make sure all the info was down, at least in a way he knew what it meant.

“Okay,” Dean continued, refocusing. “So, we’ve established that if you witnessed the murder, it must have woken you up, and we have a memory that might be it. That’s good. Let me tell you more about the crime, see if we can do more like that. Is that okay?”

Castiel nodded, plainly eager to continue. Dean sat his pen and notepad in his lap to reach for his briefcase. Opening it while it was still on the floor, Dean fished out a file containing the police report of that night.

He scanned it some, trying to find important details that would be significant for Castiel, and after thinking he had a few good jumping off points, closed the file and sat it on the coffee table. Pen poised again, he said, “So, you were the one to call 911.”

Dean watched Castiel take in the news, little changes in his features. Dean wondered how many times this guy had been told he had done something. “That seems likely. I doubt I would forget the number 911. It was instilled in me at a young age, in case of emergencies.”

Dean nodded, silently agreeing. That was one of the first things a parent taught a child in the States. As soon as they knew how a phone worked, that was pretty much always the first number they learned. “The operator asked you who killed her, and you said,” Dean quickly peeked into the file to make sure he got it right, “’I don’t know, but I feel like I should.’”

Castiel sighed. “I apologize, but that will not be helpful. My memory is cursed, almost taunting, because I remember saying that countless times.”

Dean huffed in sympathy. “Sucks, man.”

Castiel gave Dean a small, flat smile. “As long as I remember how to wipe my own ass, I won’t complain.”

Dean barked a laugh. He wasn’t expecting that. “Shit, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

“I haven’t,” Castiel’s smile turned more real. “I remember everything up until I was six, so luckily, everything I learned before then I remember very well.”

Dean nodded. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he was already letting them change Castiel’s line of thought. “The police report also said you had forgotten the crime by the time they arrived, but the nurses and other members of staff said you tried to tell them as much as you could. You had remembered the nurse Tessa and yelled for her after you called for help.”

Castiel looked fond. “I know Tessa. She’s a night nurse. Even when she’s angry, there’s something gentle about her.”

_Yes_ , Dean thought, _hooked another memory_. “Okay, let’s follow that. What do you remember about Tessa?”

Castiel took a deep breath, eyes darting around as he obviously was trying to grab as much memory as possible. “She’s shorter than I, dark hair, usually wears it down and on the shorter side. She has kind eyes and a gentle voice. She’s opinionated, never swayed, but always understanding. Nonjudgmental. My first memory of her is her guiding me back to the baths, telling me I hadn’t finished bathing. My last memory of her is her telling me her honeymoon was good and wishing me goodnight, giving me my pill. I remember her reminding me of a lot of things, like that I was in the middle of dinner, or who someone was. I remember watching her during a couple of emergencies. I remember her crying in a stairwell. And I remember she has a dog, a husband, doesn’t want kids, and despises the television show NCIS.”

Dean latched onto what he thought might be important. “Do you remember why she was crying in a stairwell?”

Castiel looked a little sad. “No. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Castiel. You’re doing great. What do you remember?”

Castiel sighed, closing his eyes as he spoke. “It was daytime because the sun was coming through the windows. She hugged me. Cried on my shoulder. She had told me not to worry about her at first, but I remember her breaking down and saying she would tell me since I probably wouldn’t remember. I remember telling her that it would be okay. I remember telling her that from what I knew, she was a good person and wonderful nurse. And…” he opened his eyes and sighed again, looking at his lap. “I remember telling her she was a catch? It’s something I remember my brother telling my sister once. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what it means, but I remember it felt appropriate.”

Castiel looked back at Dean, a bit of shyness in his eyes. Dean grinned. Castiel might not know the phrase, but he was damn cute about it. He opened his mouth to tell him what the phrase meant, then took a breath instead.

He needed to keep Castiel on track. “It sounds like she had a breakup. She was seeing someone romantically, and they stopped.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide, then a smile broke out across his face. “I remember something else.”

“Yeah?”

“I remember Tessa showing me a ring. An engagement ring. Telling me she was getting married. I remember telling her that I told her things would work out.”

Castiel had a very cautious happiness about him, telling him a… new? New to him, currently, memory. Damn, Dean couldn’t even imagine what that felt like. “That’s awesome, Cas! Look at you, remembering other things.”

Castiel beamed at him, then suddenly the wide smile faltered. “Are we talking about Tessa?”

Dean felt his own smile wane. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas. Uh, Castiel. We’re talking about Tessa.”

“I know Tessa,” Castiel nodded, seemingly proud of the fact.

Dean’s heart broke a little. “Yeah, Cas,” Dean said softly.

The ‘Cas’ thing slipped out when he briefly forgot the guy’s full name, and he hadn't planned on saying it again. Now, Dean thought it suited him better. Plus, it gave the impression they were familiar with each other. Surely, not everyone in dude's life called him _Castiel_ all the time. It could help Castiel relax and remember if Dean continued to give an impression of familiar, safe, and… whatever.

Nodding a little to himself at his decision, he continued, “You were telling me about her.”

“Do I know you?” Cas asked, pleasant and easy.

“Yeah. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester. I was… I was asking you questions about something that happened here.”

Cas nodded, clearly having no idea. “Are you a detective?”

“No. No, no,” Dean smiled at him, forcing easiness like this was normal. “I’m filling in for my brother, who’s a lawyer.”

Cas smiled knowingly. “My brother changed his will again.”

Dean tried to smile like they had been doing back and forth, polite and welcoming, since they shook hands. He could feel it fail. “No. Cas, you witnessed a murder.”

Cas’ face darkened suddenly. “Hannah. She’s dead.”

Dean nodded, realizing, a bit upset with himself, that he hadn’t even said the victim’s name. Cas knew her. He might have had a… trigger? Realization? Fuck if Dean knew, if he had called Hannah by name. He took a deep breath, as subtly as he could, and pressed on. “Yeah, Cas. Hannah Carrol is dead. She died, a few months ago. Murdered.”

Cas clenched his jaw. “I knew this?”

“You…”

“Say it.”

“You saw it happen.”

Cas eyes snapped shut, grief flickering across his face. “She was an amazing person. Strange sometimes, but so caring. So understanding.” He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, eyes screaming a silent plea. “She didn’t ask for it. She hated him.”

Dean's breath hitched a little. There was something so raw in Cas’ voice, and with the emotion on his face, he knew. Cas was remembering the murder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he threw a quick _Take that, Sammy_ into the universe. “I know, Cas. But we need to know who. Who was it that she hated?”

Cas blinked a couple of times. “I… I just remember that he broke up with her when she was admitted here. She was released a year later but readmitted a few months after because she moved on and he came back. I… I remember her crying, in the hallway. She said she had group, and she wanted to tell them what happened. I… that’s all.”

Dean kept an intense focus on Cas, not daring to break eye contact. Going with his gut, and Cas’ eyes, Dean tried changing it up some, acting like Cas was telling Dean, his friend, this, not simply answering questions. Hoping to keep jogging Cas’ memory, he asked, “Is she alive?”

“I… I don’t think so. A man had her. She… I think she…”

Something shifted in Cas’ eyes and his features evened out.

“Hannah loves her bangs,” Cas smiled, motioning with a hand to represent hair going down to the eyebrows. “Tessa cuts them for her. One time, Tessa went on vacation, and Rufus had to cut them. They were crooked, but she keeps them that way, well…” Cas’ smile grew. “Not as bad, but just a little, to honor Rufus. She’s now the only person Rufus is… nice to. He’s not bad; he’s a very good guy. But he isn’t nice to anyone but her.”

Dean swallowed, hard. He looked down, easing a breath. He felt so sorry for Cas. He almost remembered. He took his time writing down his notes, documenting everything that just happened. Several minutes passed before Dean looked up again.

Cas was watching him, a very, very soft and fond look on his face. “I know you,” he said.

Dean forced a smile. “You do? Who am I?”

“You’re Dean. You’re a lawyer. I’m a witness to a crime I can’t remember, and you’re trying to help me.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, tapping the notepad a couple of times on his thigh. “Almost. I’m Dean. My brother is the lawyer. I’m just filling in. But that’s amazing, Cas. Good job.”

Cas smiled wide. “How can I help you?”

Dean sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know how long he could do this.

He looked at Cas, letting all the seriousness of the situation weigh on him. Cas clearly responded, setting both feet on the floor, scooting up in his seat, his back straight. Dean followed suit.

“I’m just… going to be bluntly honest.”

Cas nodded, face full of nothing but concentration.

“A few months ago, you were the only witness to the murder of Hannah Carrol.”

“Hannah?”

“Yes.”

Cas blinked. “No. She just had her bangs cut.”

Dean hung his head, getting a headache. “Yeah, I know. By Rufus.”

“No,” Cas said sternly. “By Tessa. She just came back from her honeymoon.”

Dean snapped his head up at Cas’ connection of two memories. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. She just finished before she gave me my night pill, telling me her honeymoon was perfect.”

Dean nodded, encouraged. “And you woke up later?”

“Yes. Hannah was yelling. She was asking for help.”

“Yelling?” he asked, though he knew it was true. Several patients reported hearing a female yelling, but patients weren’t allowed outside their rooms at night. No one but Cas ignored that to help.

Cas scrunched his eyebrows. “She must have had a nightmare. She was yelling that someone was trying to kill her. But that’s impossible.”

“How so?”

“Three years ago, a nurse raped a patient on our floor. The nurse was Lilith, and the patient was Evan. It was very traumatizing for him. Since then, New Life changed their surveillance policy. Other than individual rooms, toilets, or showers and baths, everything is watched.”

“What do you mean?”

“There isn’t just a camera at the end of the hall. There are cameras everywhere. If someone was trying to kill her, security would have stopped it. And if they didn’t, they would know everything about it.”

Dean asked, “Unless it was in a room, toilet stall, shower, or bath?”

Cas shook his head. “She was yelling down the hall.”

Dean nodded, satisfied with the confirmation of the memory. He remembered it twice, so Dean took that as proof it was real. Unfortunately, he wasn’t remembering anything they didn’t know. All the cameras were disabled during the murder.

“Hannah was killed in the hallway by her husband,” Dean said slowly. He didn’t know what made him so bold so as to try to guide Cas to the suspect, but he tried.

Cas shook his head again. “Security would have seen it.”

Dean nodded, sighing. He wrote everything he could down on his notepad, biting his cheek. How did Sam do this? Feeling in his gut the interview was over, Dean took his time, adding his own notes and thoughts. When he was finally done, he closed the notepad, clicked the pen, and tucked them both into his suit’s inside pocket before putting the file back in his briefcase and clicked that shut. He knew Sam and them had already talked to Cas’ doctors, but Dean was going to make a pit stop, see if he could understand the interview, and Cas, a bit better.

He looked back at Cas who was now sitting so he could look out the window, a leg crooked on the cushion with his knee on the back of the couch. “Cas?”

Cas turned his head. “Do I know you?”

“Yeah, Cas. A good indicator is me knowing your name.”

Cas chuckled, righting himself on the couch to face Dean. “Technically my name is Castiel.”

“Yeah, but do you know anyone named Cas? Because I don’t.”

Cas hummed, thoughtful. “No, actually. I hope I can remember that.”

Dean laughed to himself quietly, standing. Cas did the same, looking around, as though a little confused and like he was making sure it was okay to mirror Dean. Then he smiled at Dean: innocent, open, kind, curious, happy.

Dean held out his hand, trying to be professional. “Thank you for your time, Cas.”

Cas beamed, shaking his hand a lot more firmly than before. “Anytime. Please, allow me to walk you out.” His smiled faltered some. “I’m sorry. Were you here for an interview about my brother for another magazine?”

Dean let go of his hand, shaking his head. “No. There was a murder here. My brother is a lawyer on the case. I was filling in to ask you questions.”

As Dean spoke, Cas’ face fell some. His eyes looked sad as he asked, “Did I help?”

“Yes. Yeah, Cas. You were amazing.”

Cas didn’t look like he believed him but gave a sharp nod and gestured towards the door.

Dean followed him out and toward where he knew the exit was. Cas seemed steady, so Dean didn’t stop him, even though he probably knew the way better than Cas. He quietly prepared himself if Cas lost his memory and asked why they were together, where they were, and who he was. By the time they were by the elevator, Cas smiled at him. “The exit is close to the lifts.”

Dean made a noise of acknowledgment, then asked, “You close to some Brits or something?”

“What do you mean?”

“You called the elevator ‘lifts’.”

“Ah. Yes. Maybe. I… I’m not sure. A face comes to mind. And a voice. But they… don’t match. The words Zar and Crowley come to mind too.”

Dean clapped the guy on the shoulder. “Good. Keep remembering, Cas.”

“I like that.”

“Like what?”

“Cas.”

“Do you not remember me calling you that?”

Cas shook his head. “No. I remember being called Castiel, Cassy, Novak, Dr. Novak – though I’m not sure why as I am not a doctor, and Clarence. At this time, no Cas. But I like it.”

Dean patted him on the shoulder again, to acknowledge his statement, as the doors opened. They rode down together, and Cas led him to the front lobby of the long-term care unit, blatantly watched by nurses.

“It was wonderful meeting you, Dean.”

They stopped close enough to the double automatic doors for Dean to put a foot on the mat and open them. “You too,” he said, trying to turn away.

Cas gasped, looking beyond Dean into the parking lot visible by Dean opening the doors.

Dean followed his line of sight and smirked. “That’s my car. ’67 Impala. My baby.”

“Beautiful,” Cas beamed. “Powerful. A Chevy built in that time can last a few lifetimes.”

“You know cars?”

Cas shook his head, his mind clearly focusing on something else. “You should do something.”

“What’s that?”

“You should take a few miles by Franklin, 340 west, with the rock and mountains, during sunset.” Cas smiled, looking away and up at the sky. “Do it on a Sunday when no one is around. Speed. And video the whole thing.”

Before Cas could mentally change direction, Dean asked, “Why?”

Cas’ eyes snapped to Dean’s. “You love your car.”

Dean smirked and gave a swift nod.

“One day you won’t be able to drive. You’ll like the videos. I wish I had them. I love… loved driving.” Cas looked back into the parking lot and all the cars. “I loved getting on highways when no one was around. Speeding. It was almost like flying. I wish I recorded it. Most things, actually. A lot of things.”

Dean could tell that Cas was no longer thinking about cars. He cleared his throat, gaining Cas’ attention. “Thanks, Cas. I appreciate your help.” He held out his hand one last time, hoping to end this altogether.

Cas took his hand but studied him intensely.

“Do you remember me?” Dean asked.

Cas sighed, letting go of his hand. “Dean. You knew Hannah.”

“Almost,” Dean corrected. “I am Dean. I didn’t know Hannah. You did.”

Cas nodded, looking both disappointed and sad.

“I’m leaving now.”

Cas nodded again. God, Dean could go a lifetime without nods and smiles.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Cas said. “But I just know you’re Dean. Have a wonderful day, Dean. Thank you… for knowing me.”

Dean walked out the door and saluted Cas. “I’ll remember you. Don’t worry.”

Seemingly satisfied, Cas walked back to the elevators, leaving Dean watching after him.

Dean began the walk to his car in the parking lot. He really, really wanted to be annoyed with the hoops he had just leapt through. Secretly, he was hoping to give Sam something that broke the case. Somewhere in him, he knew he might have. From what he knew, Cas remembering the murderer was new information. Moreover, though, he hoped he hit something in Cas. Something that helped him remember. Something that helped him get better.

Just… he hoped he did something.

He called Sam’s office and got the number for Cas’ doctors as he pulled out of the parking lot.


	2. They Linger On, These Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Finally,” Sam sighed, clapping him on the shoulder while also pushing him forward towards the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One title from a Dean Martin song title  
> Chapter Two title from Enlightenment by Van Morrison

“Mr. Winchester,” Dr. Wright greeted, shaking Dean’s hand. The doctor only stopped by at the hospital a couple of days a week, so Dean met him at his office downtown. He was glad dude had time for him, and he was able to come straight here from the hospital.

He took a seat in front of the man’s desk, pulling out his notepad again. “So, how exactly are you able to talk to me about Cas?”

Dr. Wright, who had taken his seat behind the desk, clasped his hands. “His brother is his power of attorney. He granted permission, but only if the information helps the case.”

“Okay," Dean accepted. "Guess I’ll start with, what’s wrong with Cas?”

“And how does that help the case?”

 _Ugh_ , Dean internally groaned. This was going to be like pulling teeth, wasn't it? Dean didn’t have all the know-how like Sam to twists words around, coming up with a plausible excuse on the spot. Deciding to go with his gut again, he said, “No idea. But I can’t analyze the interview without knowing what’s behind him saying what.”

“Fair enough," Dr. Wright said, surprising Dean. "Mr. Novak’s memory lapses are more psychological than medical at this point. He’s only twenty-nine, so there’s plenty of time for him to get better.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since he was found at twenty-two.”

“Found?”

“He went missing when he was six. He resurfaced when he was twenty-two, not even knowing his own name, having spent several years living on the streets.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head, and writing down notes. If Dean had to guess, Cas was kidnapped, probably released when he got “too old”. If he felt sorry for Cas before… 

Flipping through his notes from the interview, Dean asked, “He said the lights in his room are automatic, reacting to movement. I’m guessing that’s for when he wakes up and doesn’t know where he is? The light will come on, instantly showing him the room. And the note taped to the door?”

The doctor nodded.

“How often does that happen?”

“Waking up not knowing where he is? Not very often these last few years. His memory used to reset completely every night due to brain trauma he had received during his time away. That’s healed now. Now, if his memory resets while he’s asleep, it’s most likely due to… other things.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Like psych things? Triggers or whatever?”

“Exactly.”

“Has his memory reset since the murder?”

Dr. Wright smirked at him. “You’re smarter than your brother. Yes, it has. A total of five times.”

Dean felt a little proud of the doctor’s compliment and stopped himself from looking smug as he jotted down that note. “What exactly happens when it resets?”

“The worst was a few years ago. He woke up thinking he was six years old again. It was quite traumatic for him. The times after the murder, however, he only went back a few years. He goes to therapy for his memory every day now, attempting to restore as much as possible.”

“He remembered. The murder.”

Dr. Wright’s eyes went huge. “He _what?_ ”

“Just for like, a second,” Dean confirmed, waving his hand a little.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long did he remember?”

“Uh,” Dean thought back. “Seriously just for a few seconds. Just long enough to tell me Hannah hated who killed her. Said he heard her yelling down the hallway for help. What little he did say seemed to fit nicely with the evidence.”

Dr. Wright nodded, leaning forward to rest his arms on his desk. “I’m impressed. How did you manage that?”

“Nah, not me, that was all Cas,” Dean tried to wave him off.

“No. Castiel’s ability to remember seems to be directly tied to the people he’s around.”

“How so?” Dean asked, pen poised.

“No idea. We haven’t figured out exactly how his brain works.”

That was disappointing. If they knew why he responded differently to different people, they could really help the guy.

Dean once again flipped through the notes from his interview with Cas. “So, you don’t know how his thought process works?”

“Sorry. We have no idea.”

“Could you make an educated guess how him waking up not knowing where he was could affect remembering the murder? If the murder was what woke him up?”

Dr. Wright considered him for a moment. “I’m afraid it would only be a guess. I would assume he would remember it better, but with it being traumatic, it might have helped him forget.”

Dean nodded. Guess he wasn't going to get some kind of secret Cas-decoder after all. He decided to do a little research through one of Sam’s old psychology textbooks, see if he can figure something out. “Okay, well, you available if I have any more questions?”

“Of course,” Dr. Wright nodded, studying Dean as though he was very interesting. He stood when Dean did, and they said their goodbyes.

__

Dean drove about 50 miles north after leaving Dr. Wright’s office. As he got onto 340 west, he put in an ACDC tape, cranking up _Moneytalks._ As he got up to speed, cursing a little that it was a Tuesday with a little traffic, he held up his phone. Quickly clicking the power button twice, the camera pulled up. He pushed the record button after he turned up the music loud. He recorded the entire song, speeding, passing numerous cars, catching all the rocky hills, background mountains, and all the bright greenery.

__

“Dean, this is amazing!” Sam exclaimed, making Dean almost spill his beer.

He was vegging out on the couch when Sam charged in. Sam had been in his office all evening, undoubtedly working on the case. Dean had left Sam his report of the interview on his desk, having analyzed what he could and leaving his personal notes.

That report was what Sam was holding in his hands, staring at Dean in apparent awe.

“What?”

“This!” Sam waved the report. “You got more out of him than we ever could.”

“You’re kidding?” Dean smirked. “Guess I should have been the one who gone to law school.”

“Where’s the recording?” Sam asked excitedly.

“Oh… uh…”

“You did record it, didn’t you?”

Dean shrugged sheepishly. “I might have forgotten.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped, his arms falling to his sides. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Sorry?” Dean offered.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Castiel is not a reliable witness we can put on the stand. We have to record everything with him.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing, I guess.” Wow, Sam must have been exhausted not to start an argument. “I’m just going to have to go back, try to get him to remember these things on tape.”

“Good luck,” Dean called to Sam’s retreating form, looking back at the TV. “Let me know if I can help.”

__

Dean was underneath a silk, smooth, curvy beauty. He could already imagine hearing her purr, and oh, was Dean going to make her purr. He knew all the right spots to pinch, twist, and knead. Had all the skills needed to caress her, giving her enough stimulation to turn her on and make her feel alive. Oh yes, he was going to make this Mercedes _Benz_.

Was, being the keyword.

“Dean!” Bobby shouted from the front office. “Sam called. Said you need to call him back!”

Dean groaned. He had turned off his phone just for this, so he could sink into a world of motor oil and the sound of drills. “Damnit, Sammy,” he grumbled, rolling out from underneath the car. He pulled his cell phone from his jumper’s pocket and turned it back on.

Eleven missed calls from Sam.

Jumping up, thinking it was an emergency, Dean bolted out of the bay, pressing his phone to his ear.

“Dean! Thank god!” Sam answered on the fourth ring.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Castiel Novak.”

Dean froze, needing a moment to remember who that was and why he knew him. “Is he okay?”

Sam sighed, sounding entirely put upon. “He’s going to be sundowning soon. I’ve been here for _hours_. My bosses told me not to leave until I got _something_ useful.”

“You’re calling me about Dory?”

“Who?”

“Cas!”

“Yeah. I need your help.”

“I’m at work, Sam!” More annoyed that Sam had scared him, making him think something bad had happened to his baby brother than he was about Sam needing his help. 

“I know, I know. This is… I’m not getting anywhere, Dean. The guy never remembers me. I keep having to introduce myself.”

“Yeah, that kind of comes with the Cas-territory.”

“I know; I know," Sam said again, "but get this. Every time I do, he tells me he knows a Winchester. ‘A Dean Winchester,'" Sam dropped his voice, mocking Cas' gravel tone. "'I think he’s a lawyer.’” 

Dean felt floored for a moment. Then thoroughly honored and entirely smug. He snorted. “Upset he likes me better?”

“Dean.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean laughed. Putting aside that Cas remembered _Dean_ , which Dean was never going to let go (taunting Sam with it was already priority number one), if Dean could help in a murder case, he was going to. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Make it fifteen? He has about an hour before sundowning.”

“Yeah, what is that? You just mentioned it.”

“Sundowning is late-day confusion. He works hard to remember things all day; eventually, his energy starts to wane, and it’s harder to remember. Well, remember in general, but the nurses warned me that since I’ve been interviewing him for hours, it might be a lot worse.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “How about you tell your bosses not to do more harm than good, huh?”

“I’m being as gentle as I can, Dean.”

“Be gentler. I’m on my way.” With that, he hung up and made his way to Bobby to let him know he needed to leave.

Twenty minutes later (thank you irritating people who went the speed limit), Dean was walking into the long-term care unit. He washed as much grease from his hands and arms as possible, but it was still clear Dean had been elbow-deep in auto work. He was even wearing dirty jeans and a t-shirt with grease stains.

Sam, in comparison, was wearing one of his expensive suits, waiting for him in the lobby.

“Finally,” Sam sighed, clapping him on the shoulder while also pushing him forward towards the elevators.

“How is he?”

“Happy.”

Dean quirked a brow at his brother's tone. “Isn’t that good?”

“For him,” Sam mumbled.

They didn’t speak as they made their way to the rec room on the third floor. Cas, today in darker jeans and a pullover hoodie, was sitting in the same spot he was when Dean had interviewed him, talking to a smiling nurse.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as they reached them.

Cas turned to look at him, confusion flickering across his face before he beamed at Dean. “I know you.”

“Yeah, Cas. You do. Who am I?”

Pride spread across Cas’ face. “You are Dean Winchester. A lawyer.”

Dean snickered. “Almost. I’m Dean Winchester, but I’m not a lawyer.”

Cas frowned. “I feel like that is incorrect.”

The nurse chuckled, affectionately tapping Cas’ cheek. “He’ll explain, sugar.” She turned to Dean, offering her hand for him to shake. “I’m Missouri, one of the night nurses.”

Dean shook her hand, smiling at her. “You taking care of our Cas here?”

“Of course. He’s a joy to take care of.”

Dean glanced at Cas, winking at him. “I don’t doubt it.”

Missouri nodded, seemingly approving of Dean. She turned back to Cas. “I’ll let you visit with your friends. I’ll be right over there, where you can see me, okay?”

Cas nodded, standing and _hugging_ Missouri. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sugar,” she cooed, letting him go. He sat back down, and Missouri turned a sharp and stern eye to Dean. “You. Over here.”

Dean was taken aback, but her tone left no room for argument. Giving Cas an encouraging smile, he followed Missouri over to the corner. “Yeah?”

“You don’t push him too hard, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She huffed and looked Dean up and down. “And you make sure he’s happy when you leave.”

“Sure thing.”

“Your brother has been upsetting him. Not intentionally, mind you, but the thing is, Castiel knows when his memory is disappointing someone. Emotions can stay, y’know. Even if you can’t remember why you feel that way. Emotions only have a physical response for ninety seconds, unless we latch onto them, which Castiel tends to do.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

“Do you?”

Dean smiled at her. “Yeah. I got it. And I know he’s about to sundown.”

“Good,” Missouri smirked. “I like you. You can come back.” She winked at him and stalked off.

Dean chuckled at her. She… kind of scared him, but he liked her.

Turning back to the sitting area, Dean’s smile only grew. Sam was sitting in the armchair, looking frustrated, and Cas was staring at him, looking confused. He would pay money to watch them, but still, he quickly made his way over.

Assuming Cas wouldn’t remember their greeting just a moment ago, Dean chirped, “Hey, Cas.”

Cas looked over at him, recognition smoothing out his features. “Dean.” Cas stood, lifting his arms like he was going to hug Dean, frowned, let his arms fall, then gave an awkward half-nod and half-bow thing. _Cute_ , Dean thought.

“Mind if I join you guys?” Dean asked, sitting next to where Cas was seated. Cas sat with him, smiling at Dean, then immediately frowning as he clearly processed Dean's words.

He looked around, eyes landing on Sam. “Hello,” he said. “Do I know you?”

Sam closed his eyes, plainly trying to be patient.

Before he could say anything, Dean jumped in. “Yeah, Cas. That’s my brother, Sam. He’s the lawyer.”

Cas nodded, adjusting a little to focus mostly on Dean. Dean mirrored him, seeing in the corner of his eye Sam turning on a recorder.

“Do you remember how we met, Cas?”

Cas nodded. His eyes were twinkling. Dean found himself so happy that Cas had that twinkle. Knowing what… might have happened to him, for so many years. “You’re a lawyer like your brother. You…” he faltered some. Then smiled knowingly. “My brother changed his will again.”

Dean chuckled, remembering the last time Cas came to that conclusion. “No. Close. I’m not a lawyer, my brother is. Though, I’d love to meet _your_ brother.”

“His name is Gabriel. He is… a person so annoying, you would hate to admit he is pretty amazing.”

Dean cast a fond look at Sam. “Oh, I get that.”

Cas followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked Sam.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” Sam said, seeming to have some patience back. He gestured politely to Cas. “Dean and I are here to interview you about something you witness. Do you mind if I record?” He then gestured to the recorder he had placed on the coffee table.

“Not at all.” Cas turned back to Dean. “What did I witness?”

“The murder of Hannah Carrol,” Dean announced without preamble.

“ _Dean,_ ” he heard Sam hiss but pointedly ignored him.

Cas’ expression was first shocked, then darkened. “It was at night.”

Dean nodded, hoping he looked encouraging. “That’s right. It woke you up, most likely.”

“She was yelling.”

“Very good, Cas. That’s great. Keep going.”

“She was saying someone was going to kill her. I heard it. The note on my door said to not leave my room, but she was yelling for help. I ignored the note and…”

Cas looked down, clearly trying to pull the memory into focus. Dean could feel himself slip into whatever headspace he was in the last time he talked to Cas. “You’re doing great. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Cas clenched his jaw, blinking a few times. Dean saw something shifting in his features, and before he could focus on it, Cas was looking up, seemingly happy. “Tessa cuts Hannah’s bangs.”

Dean smiled back at him, finding it was easier this time around. “Yep. She cut Hannah’s bangs just before she told you her honeymoon was good and gave you your nighttime pill.”

Cas’ smile widened a little. “Yes. Yes, then Hannah woke me up later.”

Knowing how serious the connection between the two was, Dean willed himself not to react but keep things pleasant. He knew he needed to pull a confirmation from the guy. So, he propped his elbow up on the back of the couch, facing toward Cas a little more. Feigning surprise, he asked, “She did? Why?”

Cas frowned. “I…”

“That’s alright,” Dean assured. “If you can’t remember, you can’t remember.”

Cas’ frown deepened. “I feel like I really need to remember.”

Dean immediately thought back to Missouri’s warning. He put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You don’t, Cas.” He could see Sam from the corner of his eye, and knowing Sam like he did, Sam was just barely restraining from protesting as he shifted obviously in his seat. “It’s perfectly okay if you don’t.”

“I feel like that’s not true.”

At that, Dean threw Sam a quick glare. Making sure his features were pleasant as he looked back at Cas, he said, “Hey, buddy. You don’t got to feel guilty if you don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember a lot of things.”

“Neither does Sam, and he ain't got close to your excuse.”

Cas smiled slightly, evidently relaxing some. “Who’s Sam?”

Dean smriked at Sam, which Cas didn’t miss.

“Oh. I am so sorry,” Cas apologized, holding out a hand to Sam. “You must be Sam.”

Sam shook his hand tightly. “Yeah. Sam Winchester.”

Cas jerked his head toward Dean. “His last name is Winchester too.”

“Yep,” Dean laughed. “We’re brothers.”

Cas smiled brightly at him but didn’t reply. He just leaned back on the couch, looking at Dean fondly.

Dean, feeling like Cas wasn’t going to continue, prompted, “Do you know which one of us is a lawyer?”

Cas opened his mouth like he was going to reply but abruptly stopped. He looked at Sam, considering him, then at Dean. Taking in Dean more slowly, he said, “Your car broke down? You love your car.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. Something in his chest expanded at that. This… this Dory not only remembered him, he remembered Baby. “Yeah, I love her, but she's fine. I keep her running good.”

Cas leaned forward a little. “I thought I knew you knew cars. I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

“You don’t remember, but you saw her. She’s gorgeous.” Dean winked. “But I look like this,” Dean gestured to himself, “because I’m a mechanic. Sam,” he pointed to Sam, “is a lawyer.”

Cas looked between them, but he then focused on Dean. “I witnessed Hannah’s murder.”

Because he was so in-tuned with Sam, he heard his quiet intake of breath. Dean, however, forced himself not to react again. Cas had been interviewed so many times, he was honestly afraid Cas was just saying that because he remembered being told instead of actually remembering. Also, it was imperative to the case to not lead the guy. What he said had to be genuine, from Cas. So, he said, “Who’s Hannah?”

Ignoring the frustrated-crossing-of-arms Sam did, he kept his focus on Cas. Cas said, “She's a very good friend of mine. She really loves pasta.”

“I love pasta! We should all have dinner sometime.”

Something flickered across Cas’ face. “I don’t think we can.”

“No?”

“Hannah… Hannah is… Hannah died.”

The way Cas said it hurt. Something in Dean was sure that Cas knew, no matter what he remembered, that Hannah was dead. Something in him was mourning, yet… Missouri’s words about emotions came into play. Cas was grieving, but he didn’t know why.

He couldn’t remember.

Witnessing the murder of someone you knew, someone you liked, and not being able to remember – moreover, knowing you liked the person, remembered them, and knowing you can’t remember. Furthermore, knowing you can’t remember, you want to remember, grieving someone and yet, not remembering they’re dead and not know you’re grieving…

Dean was right earlier. Interviewing Cas required a certain headspace. And Advil. They would need a lot of Advil.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said softly. “How did she die?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas said seriously. “This is important, isn’t it?”

Dean smiled gently at him. “It is. But let’s not press it. Let’s take a break. Tell me something about yourself.”

Cas nodded, relaxing a little on the couch again. “I really like bees.”

Of course he did. “Why bees?”

“Because… I feel like they’re happy.”

“I’m sure they are. Hard not to be happy when you get to spend all day around flowers.”

Cas grinned. “I like spending all day around flowers too.”

“Yeah? You got a favorite flower?”

Cas contemplated for a moment. “Currently, I would say sunflowers.”

“Why just currently?”

“Because I probably won’t remember.”

At that, Dean laughed, and Cas seemed pleased to have gotten that reaction. They spent a good ten minutes just talking, Dean filing away everything he was learning about Cas, and Cas clearly trying to keep present, in the moment. Once he began relaxing fully, his memory seemed to get better, just with small pauses and a lot fewer stops to confirm what they were talking about. By the time it was dark outside, Dean figured it was time to get back on track.

“Cas, do you remember why we’re here?”

“We’re visiting.”

“No, Castiel,” Sam spoke up for the first time in a while.

Cas jumped a little, surprised. “I’m sorry; I didn’t see you. You are?”

Sam huffed. “Sam Winchester. I’m here to interview you about the murder of Hannah Carrol.”

“Oh.” Cas seemed to totally deflate. He turned to Dean. “Is that true?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Cas,” he answered, his own voice going soft. “She was murdered. You saw it.”

Cas turned sad eyes to his lap and was quiet for so long, Dean was beginning to think he was falling asleep. Then he shook his head a little. “I don’t understand. He divorced her. He was out of her life.”

“Who was?” Dean asked. Sam, very slowly, picked the recorder up and held it closer to Cas, almost like the guy was some kind of dangerous animal who was easily spooked.

“Her husband.”

“What about him?”

Cas fell silent again but looked up at Dean. There was a shift in Cas’ eyes that Dean was beginning to recognize hinted at a memory jump or something. His face smoothed out and softened. “You have beautiful eyes.”

He heard Sam sigh and could see him flump back into his seat. Instead of throwing him a glare like he wanted, he just grinned at Cas. “Thanks. So do you.”

“I do?”

Dean nodded.

“Are they still blue?” Cas asked, tilting his head. “I don'nt know the last time I checked.”

“They are. Blue as the sea.”

“That’s good.”

Cas relaxed back and just stared at Dean, as though watching Dean was as good as watching TV. Dean looked over at Sam and quirked an eyebrow, silently asking if they were done. Sam nodded in response and began packing up his things.

Turning back to Cas, Dean said, “Well, we’re going to take off. Thanks for spending time with us.”

Cas frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Home. We’re going home.”

“Alright,” Cas agreed, standing. “I look forward to going home. I can’t seem to remember it.”

Dean laughed, setting a hand on Cas’ shoulder to keep him from walking toward the doors. “No, Cas. No. I’m going to my home. You’re staying here. You live here.”

Cas frowned again. “I don’t want to, though.”

Dean shrugged. “Sorry, Cas. I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course you can. You’re a lawyer.”

“No, that’s me,” Sam piped up, his briefcase's strap tight across his chest.

Cas looked over at him, looking more confused. “Who are you?”

“Just a visitor,” Missouri answered, interrupting. “Come on, sugar. It’s time for dinner.”

“Ooh,” Cas brightened and immediately took off towards the elevators were other residents were waiting, leaving the three to chuckle after him.

“He going to be okay?” Dean asked.

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Missouri patted his arm before showing them out.

Dean had parked next to Sam, so they headed off in the same direction once they left the building.

“Well,” Sam started, "at least we were able to get him to confirm the things you got. Why does he remember you and not me?”

“You heard him, Sammy. I got beautiful eyes.” He smirked and winked at Sam over the hood of his car as he unlocked his door.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. See you at home.”

“Not tonight. Think I’ll go out.”

“Fine. Be careful,” Sam mumbled as he got into his car. The case was frustrating Sam. The kid really had his patience tested today. He knew Sam didn’t blame Cas, but he doubted Sam would be singing his praises anytime soon.

Dean left, turning onto the road in the opposite direction from Sam and steered toward the closest bar. He definitely needed time to un-Cas, as it were. The case was frustrating Dean, too, though he couldn't put a finger on why. He just didn't have a good feeling. According to Sam, Hannah’s husband, Kyle, was trying to post bail. Surely, he wouldn’t go after Cas? They had so little evidence that Cas being able to at least place him there gave them just enough to put the dude away. If the jury convicted, that was. That was reason enough to get Cas out of the way, he guessed, and poor Cas probably wouldn’t be able to know a threat if it introduced itself to him. And if it did, he wouldn’t remember.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. No, Kyle wouldn’t think of Cas as a threat. Right?


	3. I Took a Memory to Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here,” he said. “My number. My brother may be the lawyer on the case, but you seem to remember more with me. So, y’know, in case you remember anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title name after the album I Took a Memory to Lunch by Bobby Bare.

Around two weeks later, Sam called him at work again, to ask for his help with Cas.

“Please,” Sam whined through the line. Dean had taken the call in Bobby’s office and was picking at the phone cord, watching it wobble. “He still remembers you, and the hospital said he’s having a really great day.”

“If he’s having a good day, then why don’t you go, introduce yourself, and get him to remember you. Finally,” he added, knowing he sounded way too smug about it. Cas had been Dean’s favorite teasing-Sam tool lately.

“Because I have court, Dean. This is a great opportunity for us.”

“Fine," Dean sighed, unable to turn his brother down when he was working so hard. "But you owe me pie.”

“And beer. And porn. And I’ll even eat a doughnut today.”

“Pictures or I won’t believe it.”

“Deal,” Sam laughed. It was good to hear Sam a bit lighter lately. The case seemed to be going well. Slow, but good.

An hour later, Dean was in much nicer jeans and t-shirt than last time with his leather jacket, being led to one of the dining areas. It wasn’t very full, and the first person Dean noticed was that old woman. She seemed to notice him, too, and scowled. She was eating something out of a bowl, and Dean sincerely hoped it wasn’t something that could be flicked at him.

He was so busy watching her, he almost ran into the nurse when she stopped. Refocusing at the table they were by, he saw Cas, in familiar jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt.

“Have fun,” the nurse drawled. Meg, he thought her name was. She smirked at him and winked at Cas as she passed.

Cas smiled back at her then focused on Dean. His face went blank.

“Mind if I sit?” Dean asked. Cas was by himself at a yellow, round table, a plate of meatloaf, peas, and mashed potatoes in front of him.

As soon as Cas heard him speak, recognition filled his eyes. “Dean. Yes, of course. Please join me.”

Dean sat, debating whether to take off his jacket or not. He decided against it and flopped his arms on the table. Silence passed between them as Cas ate a few bites. Dean didn’t quite think it was a good idea to just jump in while Cas had a distraction, but then Cas surprised him by speaking without looking up.

“How is your car?”

“Baby? She’s great.”

Cas glanced at him, clearly amused. “You’ve named your car Baby?”

“Didn’t mean to. Kind of just stuck.”

“It’s fitting, I think. A car like yours, very masculine yet with a crafted appearance. It’s enduring. The sixties were a good decade for Chevys.”

Dean gaped at him.

“Yes, before you ask, I remember. Black, ’67 Chevy Impala.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. He cleared his throat, trying to push away his shock. “Yeah, that’s right. Wow. The hospital said you were having a good day, but damn.”

Cas glanced back up for just a moment, a smile very evident in his eyes even though it didn’t grace his lips.

“What else do you remember?”

“Not much about the murder, I’m afraid,” Cas sighed, setting down his fork. “Judging by what police, fellow residents, nurses, and, well, everyone, have said, I must have seen the whole thing. I don’t doubt it would be traumatizing enough for me to repress.”

Dean nodded. Wow. Lucid. Like, really lucid. Dean quickly pulled out a tape recorder, older than the one Sam had, and looked at Cas questioningly. When he nodded, Dean clicked the thing on and asked him to repeat himself, get that little bit on the record. After he did, Dean asked, “What _exactly_ do you remember?”

Cas sighed again, heavy, a sadness settling on his shoulders. “Hannah’s husband, Kyle, divorced her when she was admitted here long term. She was schizophrenic, manic, convinced she was on a mission from Heaven. I heard rumors she once thought she was an angel. She had disappeared, and Kyle spent months tracking her down. When he found her, she was with another man. He was taking advantage of her, playing along with her angel delusion. Supposedly, Kyle saved her, brought her home, got her help. But…”

Cas picked his fork back up, twisting it lightly in his mashed potatoes.

“Once Hannah was getting better, it didn’t add up. I, as are many of us here, am convinced there was no other man. It was Kyle who played along with her delusion, abusing her. They were only married for a year, you see. It seemed like once she got too much to handle, he dropped her off here and divorced her. She was always hazy about that time though.

“She did get better. A lot better. Eventually, she was able to leave. She did several programs, such as Intensive Outpatient Therapy. She was doing well. Working again. Met someone new.”

Cas looked back up at Dean, grief prominent.

“Kyle found out. He decided he wanted her back.”

Dean nodded. Since he was recording, he wasn’t bothering with notes, and he was able to give Cas his full attention, only glancing down to make sure the recorder was still on and taping. “You told me the first time I interviewed you that she was readmitted?”

Cas hummed in affirmation. “Yes. Here’s where I become… uncertain.”

“That’s alright, Cas. Don’t try to assume or go by what other people have said or told you. Just focus on what you are absolutely _positive_ you yourself remember.”

That seemed to relieve some tension in Cas’ shoulders. “Thank you, Dean. You’re the first person other than my therapists to tell me that.”

Dean surprised himself with his own scowl. Sam was too kind-hearted to have pushed Cas too hard, he knew that. Yet, he didn’t like the idea of Sam getting too case-focused on this guy. He knew that was possible. Somewhere in him, he knew he would be worse if he was in Sam’s shoes, but he chose to ignore that. “Don’t worry, Cas. There’s no right or wrong here.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. I know.” He took a breath, setting his fork down again and focusing sharply on Dean, pushing his half-finished plate away. “I remember she was very distraught when she came back. She was having problems distinguishing between realities. Which would be expected. But… Dean, it’s hard for me to parse through, but I _do_ remember that this time, it was something different. I remember…”

He sighed again, closing his eyes.

“I remember she cried. A lot. I asked her why, one day. She seemed so scared… worried. You have to understand, it was different from last time.”

He opened his eyes, looking determined.

“We were in the hallway, waiting for therapy to begin. I had a different group therapy than she. She was in the trauma one, but as I am male, I can’t join. Instead, I have individual trauma therapy. Ours met at the same time. She looked ill, so I approached her, to ask if she was okay. She told me that she was getting more clarity. More than ever before. She said that Kyle had done something. I asked her what, but she said no before I even finished speaking. She said she needed to discuss it in group before she decided what to do about it.”

“Did you ever find out what it was?”

Cas shook his head. “If I did, I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t remember.”

Sam and Dean’s father was a private investigator. Mostly a very… unorthodox one. Which was why he was demanded basically all over the country. John Winchester worked by instinct. If he knew a well-timed punch could get what he needed and knew who he could punch without getting in trouble, he didn’t think twice. Dean had worked with him some but mainly learned from his stories. Stories he would tell proudly when he drank. Most of them appalled Sam, which Dean thought helped push him into law. Dean, however, took them to heart.

Which was why he knew the way criminals thought. His dad basically was one and used that against everyone he hunted down. It had been a few years, but Dean felt those old learned instincts crawling up his spine. 

If Hannah’s and Kyle’s history was as Cas said it was, as he suspected it was…

“They were still in contact, weren’t they?”

Cas lifted a brow. “At the beginning, when she was readmitted. At first, she relied on him to help keep the realities sorted, but as she started improving, she was more hesitant to believe him.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me. During breakfast one morning. I remember.”

“What do you remember she said, exactly.”

Cas thought a moment, then answered. “She said, ‘I’m not sure if I believe him anymore.’”

Dean nodded. That was blunt and to the point. “Would he have known if Hannah was going to talk about him in group? Or at all?”

Cas looked apologetic. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright. This is great, Cas. What else do you remember before she died?”

Cas set his arms on the table, crossing them, and drumming his fingers a little. “I’ve been trying to remember seeing her after group. I do remember seeing her at dinner. She was surrounded by other patients; they looked to be comforting her, but I honestly don’t remember if that was after or before group. Like I said, she was crying a lot. We all tried to comfort her as much as possible. I know she sent letters to professionals, lawyers, I think.”

“You know?” Dean asked, needing to make the distinction in Cas’ case. “Or remember?”

“Remember,” Cas smiled at him, briefly. “I remember being with her as we received our mail. I assumed it had something to do with the divorce, having forgotten that had already happened. I asked her how that was going, and she gently corrected me.”

Dean could feel his heart going out to Hannah. By the sound of it, she already had too much on her hands, and yet she still had it in her to “gently correct” Cas. “You two were close?”

“I think so,” Cas answered, face falling a little. “Most of what I remember about her is… well, her just being there. Like she was a constant companion. We didn’t speak much, but when we did, it was significant. I don’t think we ever had any small talk between us.”

“This is awesome, Cas. Keep going.”

Cas shrugged. “I’m sorry, Dean. That’s about all.”

“About?”

“Well… I don’t know if I remember this or not…”

“What do you mean?”

“My therapist this morning told me I had told her this many times. She said I have been determined to remember and kept… ‘remembering’ it,” Cas said, making finger quotes.

“Well, tell me, and we can try to sort it out.”

Cas closed his eyes, seemingly trying to focus. “Tessa had been away on her honeymoon. She wasn’t gone long, but Rufus had cut Hannah’s bangs.” He opened his eyes and grinned at Dean. “Tessa’s a night nurse here, and Rufus is a janitor. The last time Tessa, who usually cut Hannah’s bangs, was gone for a vacation, Rufus had cut them instead.”

Dean grinned too. “Yeah, he sucked at it, right? They were crooked, but Hannah kept them that way for him.”

“Sort of,” Cas chuckled. “She didn’t keep them nearly as bad, but she did keep them slanted. Rufus was more than happy to cut them again. I had a feeling she just asked because of how proud he was after the first time.”

Dean laughed, hanging his head. “I know someone who’d be like Rufus. My boss, Bobby. You said he was only nice to her?” Dean lifted his head back up to look at Cas for confirmation. With an amused look, Cas hummed a yes. “Bobby’s grouchy, wouldn’t know how to style a chick’s hair, but is such a softy underneath, he’d do it. Be damn proud of it, too, even if it was terrible.”

Cas chuckled again.

Dean found he really liked lucid Cas.

“Exactly. Tessa came back, though, and Hannah asked her to reel in the damage. She did. I was with them, near the nursing station between the male and female corridors. Tessa told us about her honeymoon, and we caught her up on what she missed. My memory was a little spotty, but I was able to contribute some. After they were done, Tessa gave us both our medication and sent us to bed before she made her rounds. Most residents were already in bed. They only reason Hannah and I were still out of our rooms was for Hannah’s haircut.”

The good humor drained out of Cas.

“I fall asleep rather quickly on Trazodone, the only nighttime medicine I take. I remember being frustrated that night because my memory streak was… It didn’t seem to be lasting as long as the last one. I had seen my sister a week before, and she usually sparks memory lapses in me. I’d tell you why,” Cas looked over, a very faint hint of that good humor back in his eye, “but I never can remember.”

Dean snorted. “You know, even when your memory’s gone, I think you still poke fun at it.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cas smiled. “I always remember how forgetful I am.”

Dean outright laughed at that, Cas joining. A real laugh. Damn, Dean thought. It was good to hear.

“Anyway,” Cas said as they returned to matters at hand. “I remember feeling like I had just closed my eyes, just gotten to sleep, when something woke me up. This…” He looked apologetically at Dean again. “This is where I become the most uncertain because it’s just so hard to hold onto. I’m sure my doctors and therapist can testify to the legitimacy of the memory and the reasons behind my hesitance to declaring it as fact.”

He said it as a statement, but he looked at Dean as though it was a question. “No doubt, Cas. Hell, even I can guess you’re hesitant because, hello, this might have been when you saw a friend get murdered.”

Cas winced a little, apparently at Dean’s bluntness, but agreed, “Yes. Very much yes. That is honestly what I think as well. And for the record, not because my therapist agreed with me on that thought this morning.”

“The fact that it was your thought first speaks volumes.”

“Maybe…” Cas looked down at the table for the rest of his monologue. “I remember, in this memory, waking up feeling like I just went to sleep. I woke up, knowing who I was and where I should be, but not knowing if I was there. I shot up, and the lights clicked on. I looked around, but I couldn’t remember if I was where I was supposed to be. Or where I thought I should be. I heard a shout and went to the door, but there was a paper taped to the door that stopped me. It had my name on it. I can’t remember verbatim, but it told me where I was, how long I had been there, and to not leave the room. That if I needed anything or was confused, to push the call button by the door. I remember deciding I didn’t need anything and was going to go back to bed – I remember feeling very tired. But… I heard someone shout again. I put my ear to the door, and I heard someone I knew that I knew. I remember Hannah’s face coming to mind. The voice sounded panicked. She was yelling, ‘Someone, please. He’s going to kill me. Please. Someone help.’ And that, that I do remember verbatim. I went to open the door, saw the paper, remembered the paper, decided I didn’t care about that, threw open the door, and…”

Cas shook his head.

“I’m trying,” he finished in a whisper.

Dean reached over and placed a hand on Cas’ arm. “I know, Cas. You’re doing so good.”

“But it’s not enough, is it?” He asked, head shooting up to look at Dean like he dared Dean to disagree.

Dean sighed, taking back his hand. “I won’t lie. I won’t tell you who’s suspect numero uno because I don’t want to plant a false memory, but unless you, or someone – anyone, can at least place him here, he’s going to walk.”

Cas’ eyes slammed shut. He hung his head.

“But I’m not a lawyer,” Dean rushed. “I ain’t a cop or nothin’. My brother is the one on the case, and he’s been positive lately.”

Cas nodded, then jerked his head up and frowned. “I thought you were on the case.”

Dean grinned. “Nope. Sam, my brother? He works at the DA’s office. I met you by filling in for him, to interview you in case you remembered something.”

Cas nodded again. “How many times have we met?”

“Uh… this is the third, I think? Yeah, this is the third time.”

Cas’ eyebrows raised in obvious surprise. “How many times have I met your brother?”

Dean chuckled. “I don’t know, but way more. I’ve been teasing him about you remembering me and not him.”

Cas looked a little amused, but also guilty. “Please tell him I apologize.”

“Nope,” Dean winked. Then, remembering the recorder was on and that Sam was going to hear all this, he glanced at it, glared, then looked back at Cas more seriously. “Anything else?”

Cas pushed his plate further away, clearly thinking. “Maybe. I don’t know if this is anything or not…”

“Even if it’s not, it wouldn’t hurt to say.”

Cas shrugged, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “True. I just… I’m scared to remember, and I don’t think it’s because I’m scared of the memory. I actually argued with my therapist about it today. I just… I have this feeling? This… something. There’s just something playing in my head, almost like an afterthought. ‘If you remember, you’ll be sorry.’” He looked back up at Dean, a hopelessness about him.

Dean knew, logically, that this was something that could very well be Cas’ own personal unconscious thought to keep him from remembering the trauma. In Dean’s gut?

Threat. Made by the murderer.

Dean forced himself not to give anything away. He was being silly, after all. He had told himself countless times he’d be sorry if he did something. Usually, he did it anyway and guess what, was sorry.

“It’s alright, Cas,” he said, feeling in his bones he was lying. “The only thing that’s going to happen if you remember is that a bad guy goes to jail. And, well,” he felt his face do its own shrug of types, “maybe some nightmares and extra therapy time.”

Cas blinked, then smiled around his eyes. “Oh no, therapy? Whatever shall I do?”

Dean laughed. Oh, he liked lucid Cas.

Dean made sure one more time to ask if there was anything else, then turned off the tape recorder. Cas pulled his plate back and started eating again, making a face at what Dean assumed was the colder temperature of the food. Or, well, meatloaf.

“Just out of curiosity,” Dean started, resting comfortably in the chair now that the recorder was put away, “what else about me do you remember?”

Cas hummed around his bite, swallowed, and answered without looking at Dean. “Well, I thought you were a lawyer, but since you said you weren’t, you must be a mechanic. You’re patient. You’re kind. You have a decent sense of humor. And, I know about your car, of course.”

“Oh!” Dean exclaimed, making Cas jump a little. “Do you remember when you saw Baby?”

“Yes,” Cas said suspiciously, looking cautious.

“Do you remember what you told me I should do?”

Cas frowned, seemingly confused, but slowly his features evened out. “A video. On 340?”

Dean nodded, feeling a little proud. Of him or Cas, he didn’t know.

He dug out his phone, unlocked it, and pulled up the video. Turning his phone sideways to have the full-screen effect, Dean pushed play and handed it to Cas.

The volume was a little quiet, but Dean had _Moneytalks_ up so loud when he recorded it, it was clear what he was listening to.

Cas’ face was pure joy as he watched. He abandoned his food again, sitting up straighter. By the time the video ended, there was an excitement about him.

He looked reluctant to hand Dean’s phone back, but he did so anyway. Catching Dean’s eye, he said, “Thank you so much.”

It seemed so sincere, Dean was at a loss for words for a moment. That moment was long enough for Cas to smile big at him and pick his fork back up. Dean cleared his throat, ignoring his own strange excitement at showing Cas the video, and dug in his pocket for the receipt of his coffee that morning. Though he didn’t take notes, he brought a notepad and pen that was in his left jean’s pocket just in case. He remembered this after he pulled out the receipt, however, and couldn't be bothered with it. So he just pulled out the pen, wrote his name and number on the back of the receipt, and slid it to Cas as he pocketed the pen again.

“Here,” he said. “My number. My brother may be the lawyer on the case, but you seem to remember more with me. So, y’know, in case you remember anything else.”

Cas smiled down at the receipt and folded it gently before putting it in his pocket. “Thank you, Dean.” Then it looked like something occurred to Cas. “You have a brother?”

Dean laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Yeah. Sam. The lawyer that normally interviews you?”

Cas frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember him.”


	4. Chained to a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He did? That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to tell him. He’ll be so proud of himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from an album by The Everly Brothers
> 
> You GUYS. Ahhh, thank you so fuckin' much for the comments and compliments and support. It was just the external validation I needed. Ahhh, thank you, thank you, thank you.

“It’s not Cas’ fault!” Dean barked, tossing his spatula down on the counter, causing spaghetti sauce to splash all around it. Normally, he would be more careful, but since he was cooking, Sam was going to be the one cleaning up. As Sam was the reason he threw the damn thing, anyway, it seemed fitting.

“I know that!” Sam barked right back. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his suit’s jacket folded over the back of his chair, as he made notes from the recording Dean gave him.

“Isn’t it a good thing? That he’s consistent with what he does remember?”

“He’s only been consistent with you, Dean. And the more consistent he is, while consistently not remembering who killed her, is a bad thing.”

Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Kyle did it, Sam. It’s the most obvious thing in the world.”

“I know,” Sam sighed, "but we mostly have circumstantial evidence. “

“And Cas.”

“Cas - Castiel isn’t a reliable witness. Not to mention everything he told you is also circumstantial. We can’t win a case because some crazy guy with short-term memory thinks he remembers something off about the guy. Not to mention, Hannah never said anything directly to anyone.”

“She told her group – “

“No, Dean. She didn’t. Whether what Castiel remembers is real or not, she never got around to talking about Kyle in group. Nothing that would directly point to Kyle as her murderer, anyway.”

“Well, then, what did she tell them?”

“I don’t know. It’s confidential.”

Dean groaned, loud, long, and dramatic, as he turned back to the sauce.

“I know,” Sam mumbled. “That’s how we feel.”

“So, let me get this straight. Cas is only helpful if he out-and-out remembers Kyle killing Hannah, and even if he did…”

“Or at least place him there, yeah, and it would likely be thrown out due to his unstable and unreliable memory.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s law.”

“That’s what I said. Bullshit.”

Dean sighed, turning down the burner and started draining the spaghetti as he heard Sam stacking up his papers. “We do stand a chance if Castiel continues to have these good days. The nurses said he was doing really well before the murder. And if he remembers something that leads to solid evidence, that’s even better.”

“Yeah, I can imagine how seeing your friend slaughtered in front of you may set you back some,” he said, still defending Cas, even though he knew Sam was right. They needed more solid evidence. Like the murder weapon. That'd be nice.

“Set him back a lot, apparently.”

“He’s doing his best, Sammy.”

“It may not be enough.”

Dean knew Sam was angry with the situation, not the guy himself, but Dean still didn’t like how accusatory he sounded. Sam was the one who begged him to reinterview Cas. If what they got hurt more than helped, then why the fuck did he bother?

As Dean started plating their dinner, he decided that was a damn good question and it needed to be asked.

“Why are you bothering with Cas then? Why can’t you leave the poor guy alone?”

Sam stood and went to the fridge, pulling out a beer for Dean and a water bottle for himself. “Because Kyle may post bail soon. The judge set it pretty high, but he switched lawyers, to one who actually knows how little we have. They’re appealing the bail.”

“What does that have to do with Cas?” Dean asked, sitting down and putting their plates on the table.

As Sam joined him with their drinks, sitting opposite of his work pile, he answered, “Because, if he does get out, Castiel will find out one way or another, and we don’t want it influencing his memory.”

“How would it do that?”

Sam gave him a bitchface and gestured to the recorder still on the table by Sam’s notes. “You heard him, Dean. Something telling him if he remembers, he’ll be sorry? You really think that’s just his subconscious talking to him?”

“So, you think it’s a memory too? A threat?”

“Duh.”

“Shit,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his face. “Are you able to put extra security around him or something?”

Sam looked at Dean, obviously annoyed. “That’s the hospital’s job.”

“Yeah, and they did a bang-up job the first time.”

“I’m sure we could get a cop to sit outside at night, but we don’t even have enough evidence to warrant a restraining order for Castiel, much less spend county resources on him.”

This. This right here was why their father broke the rules. “There has to be something we can do!”

Sam chewed his food, slowly, studying Dean. After a long moment of Dean impatiently waiting for him to say something, he swallowed and asked, “Why do you care so much?”

“Why do you care so little?” Dean barked, banging the table as he stood. He stomped out of the kitchen, dinner untouched.

Okay, sure, that was unnecessary and dramatic, but Dean was beginning to get as frustrated as Sam had been for weeks now. Maybe he was getting too invested. Maybe he was getting obsessed like Sam was. He needed to back away, forget Cas even existed - the case. Not Cas, the case. Forget that the case even existed. Pull a Cas and forget the case.

Right. He’d get right on that.

__

To keep from pouring himself into Sam’s job, he poured himself into his own. He began going in early and staying late. Mainly he stayed late to go over the books. Bobby was going to leave the shop to Dean, and he had been god awful at learning how to even run a business. He much preferred manual labor to paper pushing, but he couldn’t have one without the other.

It had been a couple of weeks since he had last seen Cas, and the few times he actually saw Sam and had time to chat, Sam didn’t mention him. From what he could tell, the DA’s office was trying to throw what they could at the defense, stalling for time as detectives combed through what they could, trying to find more evidence.

But nope. No, Dean was not going to think about it. Not his job. Not his case; not his place, a damn good motto, if he did say so himself.

Which he reminded himself, again, as he clicked through a spreadsheet in Bobby’s office. It was already dark outside, being in the middle of autumn, and Dean found himself slowly losing track of the numbers he was supposed to be adding. Googling for the sixth time how to put in the whatever equation in Excel to add for him, he thought back to his dad.

John had been dead for a while now, but Dean still remembered everything he taught him like it was yesterday. His father would have found the evidence Sam needed by now. Maybe he could…

No. _Damnit, Dean,_ he chastised himself.

He huffed, very annoyed, and rubbed his eyes.

“Think it’s ‘bout time you head home,” came the rough sound of Bobby’s voice. Dean turned in the swivel chair to see Bobby leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Or is it not the work that’s got ya huffin’ and puffin’ and tryin’ to blow my computer down?”

“Sam’s case is bothering me, that’s all.”

“The Carrol murder?”

“The one and only.”

“What ‘bout it?”

“Dude might get away with it.”

Bobby hummed, nodding a little. He made his way into the room and sat in the chair by his desk. “This wouldn’t have anythin’ to do with your own lil Lucy Whitmore, would it?”

Dean shrugged. “He might be in danger.”

“He’s been in danger since that night, hadn’t he?”

“I guess.”

“Then what’s eatin’ at ya?”

“Nothin’, I guess,” Dean mumbled.

“Idjit. Come on, let’s get outta here. Got a big-rig comin’ in the mornin’.”

“Yeah, okay, Bobby,” Dean sighed, standing with the old man and stretching. They made their way out together, turning off the lights in the bay, and Dean went back to forcing himself not to worry about Sam’s case.

__

A couple of days later, Dean’s cell phone rang as he was finishing up the dishes. He turned off the water, wiped his hands on his jeans, and picked up his phone from the kitchen table. The caller ID said: New Life Psychiatric Center. Dean was very aware how quickly he answered it, he just chose not to acknowledge it.

“Yeah?”

“Dean?” came a gravel tone.

“Cas? You okay?”

“You are Dean. Dean Winchester. I remember your voice. It sounds a little different, though. Have we not talked on the phone before?”

Dean smiled, sitting down at the table as he spoke. “Nah, Cas. This is the first time.”

“Interesting,” Cas replied. “Why do I know your number?”

“Because I gave it to you, so you could call me if you remembered anything about Hannah’s murder.”

“Hannah Carrol? That’s right. Wait… Are you a mechanic who moonlights as a lawyer, or a lawyer who moonlights as a mechanic?”

Dean chuckled. “Neither. I’m just a mechanic. My brother is a lawyer on the case, which is how we met.”

“I see.” They fell silent, and Dean was about to ask if there was a reason why Cas called, or if Cas even remembered the reason, when Cas spoke up again, “I haven’t seen you in a while, have I?”

“It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Why is that? If you aren’t a lawyer, you must be a friend. Right?”

Dean sighed. “Kind of, I guess. I did interview you about Hannah, though, filling in for the lawyer.”

“Oh.”

They fell silent again, but this time, Cas let it stretch. Worried Cas would forget he was even on the phone, Dean asked, “So, what’s up? Did you remember something?”

“Yes. You,” Cas answered simply, though Dean could hear the pride in his voice. “I was walking by the phones, and I remembered you and your phone number.”

“Did you have my phone number with you?”

“No,” Cas sounded smug now. “I remembered the number without it written down.”

“Damn, Cas! That’s impressive. I barely remember my number. That’s awesome, Cas.”

“I know. I’m quite pleased.”

“You should be. Have you told any of the nurses yet?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Because that’s improvement, Cas. They need to know.”

“Alright. I’ll tell them.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by the line going dead.

Did Cas just hang up on him?

He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it. Sure enough, his phone was displaying the blinking “call ended”. Before Cas could walk too far away from whatever phone he used, Dean called the number back.

It took seven rings, but eventually, Cas’ voice floated through. “Hello?”

“What’cha hang up on me for?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted, a smile evident in his voice.

“Yeah, hey, Cas.”

“What can I do for you?”

“You called me, Cas. You told me you were walking by the phones and remembered my number.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah.”

“My apologies. It’s been a very exhausting day.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I have no idea.”

Dean laughed. Aw, man. Okay, he could admit he missed this weird, weird dude a little. “Maybe you’re sundowning, Cas.”

“That seems very likely. I look forward to seeing you, however.”

“Seeing me?”

“Aren’t you on your way over?”

“No, Cas. Sorry. I’m at home for the night.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I’m sure I can make it over there.”

“No, no, Cas. No. You gotta stay there, man.”

“Why?”

“Well, not only do you live there, but it’s probably the safest place for you right now.”

“I disagree.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean sighed. Okay, maybe he missed _lucid_ Cas. “Dude, you gotta find a nurse or something. Is Missouri there?”

“Yes. Would you like to speak with her?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, Cas.”

“One moment.”

Ten minutes later, after Sam had already come home, grabbed some food, and wandered off to his office, Dean finally gave in, hung up, then called the hospital. He was transferred to wrong departments a few times before fucking finally, “This is Missouri. What ya want?”

“Hey, Missouri. It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Oh, hi Dean. Cas hasn’t been able to shut up about you tonight.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t doubt it. He called me.”

“He did what?”

“He said he was passing by the phones and remembered my number.”

“He did? That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to tell him. He’ll be so proud of himself.”

“Is he okay? He sounded more off than usual.”

“You can thank that brother of yours for that.”

“Huh?”

“He’s been here most of the day, pumping Castiel for information. Poor boy’s exhausted.”

“Really now?” Dean snarled, standing to leave the kitchen.

Missouri laughed. “By that tone, I don’t reckon he’ll be doing that again for a while yet.”

“You can count on it. Take care of Cas, okay?”

“I always do. ‘Night, sugar.”

“Yeah, bye,” Dean dismissed, already banging on Sam’s office door.

After a few moments, the door cracked open. Sam had his cell phone pressed against his ear. He furrowed his brows after taking one look at Dean, but mouthed, “I’m on the phone.”

“Get off. We need to talk,” Dean ordered, pushing his way into the office, though nowadays it looked more like a library without a maid than an office.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, Tim. Listen, I gotta call you back.” Sam hung up and crossed his arms, still by the door. “What is it, Dean? I got a lot of work to do.”

“Oh, I’m sure you got a lot of reports to fill out after grilling Cas all day,” Dean barked, also crossing his arms.

“What?”

“You heard me. Dude, Cas just called me,” Dean snapped, holding up the phone still in his hand. “He’s sundowning. Hard. You should've heard him.”

Sam sighed, crossing over to his desk and sitting as he tossed his own phone on a stack of papers. “He’s surrounded by nurses and doctors. They’ll look after him.”

“That’s not the point, Sam. You can’t just go around, pushin' people like that!”

Sam turned to face him, bitchface firmly in place. “It’s my job, Dean. We need to get information from Castiel.”

“Not like that!”

“Then how, Dean? Huh? Because the last time I checked, there’s no magic machine to let me read his mind.”

“You gotta go slow with someone like Cas, Sammy. You can’t just interrogate them all day."

“I wasn’t interrogating. I was interviewing. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”

“I do mind, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Sam said, standing again, probably attempting to use his height to intimidate. It might work with a lot of people, but it never worked with Dean.

“We don’t know what’s wrong with Cas. Not even the doctors have a handle on him, not all the way. Pushing him like that might set back his recovery even more!”

“Or it might help him remember something!”

“Or it could keep him from remembering at all!”

“Damnit, Dean,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kyle posted bail today. What else would you have me do?”

“Kyle… He’s out?” Dean asked, anger giving way to concern.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam threw up his hands. “We’re going to trial soon. We need whatever we can get.”

“Then let me interview him. Don’t go sundowning the guy!”

“You’ve been saying all week you want nothing to do with this!”

“Well, I… Well, I changed my mind, apparently!”

Sam hung his head. “Y’know what? Fucking fine. Talk to the guy, or don’t talk to the guy. I don’t care. Just get out.”

With that, Sam slumped back down in his chair, pulling papers close to him.

“Fuckin’ fine,” Dean parroted, turning to make his way out.

“Why am I still living here,” he heard Sam mumble quietly, abruptly stopping Dean in his tracks.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nuh-uh, say it. Spit it out.”

“I said, why am I still living here,” Sam snapped over his shoulder where his back was toward Dean. “You always involve yourself in things that are none of your business. I’m sick of coming home feeling like I have to report to you.”

“You’re still living here because you got student loans coming out of your ass and you can’t afford nothing else, needing me to give you fuckin' shelter and to feed you. If you wanna leave, you’re welcome to it. I could use the money.”

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam grumbled, already looking back at his desk.

“As far as me being involved, _you’re_ the one who begged for _my_ help. Just because I don’t want you breakin’ a guy who already got a broken noggin, don’t mean you can sit there and act like your bad mood is my fault.”

Sam sighed again, this time sounding defeated. “I know. You’re right. I’m just… I spent all day with Cas. He ain’t the only one having a sundown.”

“All the more reason not to grill him for hours.”

“I know. I know, Dean.”

“Good. Give him a couple of days to recover, and I’ll go talk to him again.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dean,” Sam said softly, turning his head ever so slightly toward Dean.

Dean didn’t say anything, just spun on his heels and left, not even bothering to shut the door.


	5. My House of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean nodded. “I know, Cas. I believe you.” He needed to leave, to think. Maybe he could come back tomorrow, try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from House of Memories by Merie Haggard & the Strangers

The same nurse he dealt with his first time at New Life was the same nurse who signed him in, recording the reason for his visit and amount of time he was going to spend there. She led him through the lobby, and once they were on the elevator, Dean was surprised when she pressed floor number 2.

He was doubly surprised when she started leading him to the residential rooms. Was that even allowed? Well, of course, it was allowed since she was leading him there. ‘Course, they probably thought that because he and Cas were both males, no hanky-spanky would get on.

Dean quickly corrected his line of thought: no hanky-spanky _would_ be going on. Cas was hot, Dean guessed, but it could hardly be consensual sex if one of the partners forgot he even gave consent. _Lucid_ Cas, however, could probably hold onto the here and now long enough –

No, no. No.

No.

 _Dean_ , he warned himself, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sam.

Cas was a mental patient. No thinking of sex and Cas.

“Here we are,” the nurse said, pulling him out of his thoughts with a slight jump. He totally didn’t pay attention to how they got there.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Dean mumbled, turning to see what room they stopped in front of, only barely feeling the nurse leave.

It looked nothing like Dean would think a residential room there would look like. His knowledge was limited, however, to mainly movies like _Girl, Interrupted_. Those weren’t long-term anyway. This place was basically like a home run by the hospital. Well… probably because it _was_ a home ran by the hospital.

The walls were a light cream color, as were the sheets on the double size bed in the middle of the room. To his immediate left was another door, slightly ajar, that clearly led to a bathroom. In the opposite corner sat a couple of armchairs by a small, low table and a big bookshelf. Next to the bookshelf sat a desk, on which were several books, papers, pictures, and knick-knacks, all divided into two piles. On the wall in front of each pile were two signs, one labeled ITEMS I REMEMBER and the other ITEMS I DON’T REMEMBER.

Dean was so busy stepping into the room, trying to take a look at the piles, he didn’t notice who occupied one of the armchairs. The sound of a page flipping brought his attention to him, but not before he allowed himself to feel pride that the receipt Dean wrote his number on was on top of the pile of things Cas remembered. It was laziness of not wanting to rip a page out of his notepad that led him to the super non-thought out decision to write it on a receipt, but now Dean was glad for it. It had a date and time on it that might could help Cas if he ever forgot.

When he forgot.

Cas sat curled up in the armchair shoved literally against the corner, a book in his hands. He looked amused at whatever he was reading.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said softly, not wanting to scare the guy.

Cas looked up, obviously surprised, before that stupid fond look spread across his face. “Dean.”

“What’cha reading?” Dean asked, taking the other armchair. Dean was in plain jeans and flannel, leather jacket, not super nice but at least they didn’t have grease stains.

Cas, who was in grey sweats and a black t-shirt, looked down at the book in his hands with a frown. He stared at the page for a moment before using his thumb to hold his place and look at the front cover. With a deep sigh, Cas picked up a bookmark from a rather impressive stack of bookmarks and marked his spot. Dean noticed several bookmarks already in the book. Looking at the shelves beside them, he saw most books had several.

Cas, who apparently noticed him looking, said, “Reading is easier for me than television. I mark them as much as I can, labeling most of them. That way I don’t have to flip through them blindly to find a part I remember.”

Dean nodded and gestured to the desk with a silent question.

“That is a routine I do. Every morning and night, I sort through those items. It’s a good visual way for me to recognize where I am in my memory lapses.”

“They look about even right now.”

“Hmm, I suppose so.”

“So, how are ya, Cas? Why are you cooped up in here?” Dean also noted the loose, slouch clothes as a possible bad sign, but thought it best not to mention.

Cas looked to a notecard laying innocently on the arm of his chair. He picked it up and handed it to Dean.

In loopy, neat writing, it said: _You started new medication this week. Limit socialization to limit confusion._

“Damn,” Dean whispered, handing it back to Cas. “You doing okay?”

“Yes,” Cas said simply, setting the card back down where it was easily in his line of sight. Then he tossed his book onto the table and asked, "How are you, Dean?"

“I’m good. Took the afternoon off.”

“From which job?”

“My only job. I’m a mechanic.”

Cas nodded, obviously a little confused, but didn’t say anything more.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“What? Of course not,” Dean smiled. “At this point, I don’t think you _could_ do anything wrong.”

Cas looked relieved. “That’s not true. I stole Ms. Shelly’s pudding just last night.”

Dean snorted. “You’re right. You’re a downright criminal.”

Cas smirked. “You’d be surprised what the memory impaired can get away with.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean wagged his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“Like stealing pudding.”

Dean laughed, leaning forward to take off his jacket and tossing it across the back of his chair as he said, “My dad once pretended to be senile. I was working with him that week. It was lucky I overheard, or I would’ve blown the whole cover.”

“Why would your father pretend to be senile?”

“We were caught, uh… Doing something not exactly legal.”

Cas smiled around his eyes. Like an eye-smile. Dean remembered Cas’ eyes didn’t really do that the first couple of times they met. He hoped that meant Cas was having a good day. “Why do I not find it surprising you once got in trouble with the law?”

“Maybe because you once helped me hide a body.”

Cas gaped at him.

“Kidding!” Dean held up his hands, relaxing back in the chair. “I’m just kidding.”

“That’s too bad,” Cas relaxed with him, obviously relieved. “I would have liked to learn how good I’d be at it.”

“Well, you’d be the person I’d pick to help me. Not like you’d remember where the body was buried.”

Cas laughed, reminiscent of lucid Cas. This was good. “That is very true.”

“You seem good, Cas. Better than when you called me.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve been told I called you. Let’s see…” Cas looked up, tapping his fingers together with his elbows propped on the arms of his chair. “Your phone number is… 938 555 7285?”

Dean chuckled. “Almost. 576 555 7285.”

“Damn,” Cas sighed, forearms flopping down in his lap. “Which area code did I use?”

“Don’t know,” Dean answered, “but not mine.”

“Do you live in town?”

“Yeah, since I left high school.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Left? Not graduated?”

“Dropped out.”

“Really? That does surprise me.”

“Nah, it shouldn’t. Sammy’s the brains.”

“You are very intelligent, Dean.” Then after a beat, Cas frowned. “Who’s Sammy?”

Dean chuckled again, shaking his head a little. “No one. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.”

“So,” Dean said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Sam’s recorder. “You mind if I ask you some questions and record them?”

“No…” Cas said hesitantly.

“You sure?”

“What kind of questions?”

“About the murder of Hannah Carrol.”

“Oh,” Cas seemed to curl in on himself, elbows sliding off the arms and tucking to his sides. “Yes. Sure, Dean. Ask away.”

Dean clicked the recorder on and set it on the small table, closer to Cas than it was to Dean. After he sat back, he lifted his calf to rest on his knee, trying to feign casual as much as possible, willing himself to slip into that Cas-headspace. Cas seemed good, but that could change in a heartbeat.

Knowing the recorder was on and Sam would hear this, Dean began, “I want to apologize for my brother and how hard he pushed you the other day. Don’t know if you remember or not.”

“I do not,” Cas smiled. “My policy is, if I don’t remember, then there’s no need to apologize.”

“Might be a dangerous policy, don’t you think?”

Cas’ smile fell. “I suppose it could be now. I am relatively sure I started that policy to deflect from what might've happened when I was younger, that caused my condition. In fact, I’m pretty sure starting that policy helped cause my condition.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?”

“All I know is that you were missing between the ages of six and twenty-two.”

“Then you know as much as anyone else. I, however, do have some memories of living on the street. For example, I remember learning to drive at, I think, seventeen? Anyway, I disappeared from the park one afternoon when I was six. My sister had taken me there and got distracted by her boyfriend.”

“Maybe that’s why her visiting triggers you.”

Cas hummed. “Maybe.”

“And maybe it’s good you don’t remember.”

“I agree,” Cas said. “I was distraught for many years, terrified my not remembering were putting other children in danger. My brother tracked down some people I knew when I was on the streets, trying to piece it all together. He met several people who told him he didn’t have to worry about whoever took me – and yes, they did confirm it was a kidnapping. They never gave any other details than that, though. Told Gabriel I made them promise not to, for fear of remembering.”

“Okay…” Dean said slowly, taking in the information. “How the hell do you remember that though?”

Cas pointed to his bedside table that had only a lamp and a binder on it. “Gabriel set up an entire notebook for me to read.” He got up, walked over and grabbed it, and handed it to Dean. On the front of the binder written in Sharpie were the words: FOR WHEN YOU FORGET WHY YOU CAN’T REMEMBER.

“Awesome,” Dean said. He almost opened it but stopped himself.

“Thank you,” Cas said, obviously noticing Dean's restraint as he stood over him. “There is some information in there I would prefer to keep private.”

“’Course, Cas,” Dean said, handing the binder back to him.

Cas carefully placed it back on the bedside table before sitting back down.

“If you don’t care if I ask, how the hell do you cope?”

Cas chuckled. “I have nightmares. Every now and then I have flashbacks. I regress. I have a condition doctors are calling Intermediate Psychosis Amnesia. I wouldn’t call that coping.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean started, glancing at the tape recorder. He didn’t want to get too far off topic, but damn, he was curious. “You just talk about it so… like it’s an everyday thing.”

“It is an everyday thing, to me. I think of it like… a broken toe. It has to heal itself; anyone who has ever broken a toe could understand how frustrating it is, and yet, it’s basically simple. Sometimes it aches, and you have to find a way to deal with it for a while; sometimes you forget all about it until you try to take a step. Mostly, though, you be gentle with it and go on with life.”

“Weird way to look at it,” Dean frowned. “I guess I get it.” He cleared his throat and pressed on. “I know you’ve probably been asked, I don’t know, but since we’re on the subject and you seem, well, with it, how do you think all of that affects this investigation?”

He purposely didn’t mention what the investigation was, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Honestly, I think witnessing Hannah’s murder undid a lot of work I’ve done. Which… is problematic in and of itself to the investigation.”

Dean smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “I’m proud of you, Cas. You really seem with it right now. That's huge, man.”

“Oh, it won’t last,” Cas admitted, crestfallen. “I think you’ve come at a good time of day. Nights are becoming a very big problem for me.” He gestured to the notecard still on the arm of his chair. “It’s why I’ve had to swap medications.”

Dean frowned. “Which ones, do you know?”

“The Trazodone.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “That’s the sleepy one?”

Cas seemed to be amused at Dean’s description of it. “Sleepy one. Yes.”

“Why? Do you think it had to do with Hannah’s murder?”

“Honestly…” Cas sighed as he rubbed his jaw. “I admit that is a grand possibility. My doctor seems to think so. But… Even when I’ve forgotten she’s dead, and how she died, when I remember, it’s not… Don’t get me wrong,” he added, dropping his hand and staring at Dean. “I am very saddened. It hurts every time it’s new. But it’s an entirely different feeling than what I get when the night comes.”

“How do you feel when the night comes?”

Cas sighed again, looking away. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, as in you don’t know how to describe it? Or you don’t know, as in you don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask a followup but stopped when he saw a noticeable shift in Cas. A now familiar one. His shoulders relaxed, his face evened out, and though Dean couldn’t see his eyes as they weren't looking at each other, his eyebrows were enough to give it away.

Cas, his lucid Cas, was slipping away.

Cas looked back up at Dean with a pleasant smile. “I’m glad you came to visit me. I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

“You knew I was coming today?”

“It’s day?” Cas asked, looking at the windows. “It is. I could have sworn it was night.”

Dean took a breath, closing his eyes briefly as he scooted up in his chair, elbows on his knees and his head hung. Here they went, he thought. He remembered their first interview when Cas seemed to follow along nicely until, well, he didn’t. He was more disappointed now than he was then.

Looking back up, Cas was watching him, concern splattered on his face.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Do you know who I am?”

Cas leaned forward, too, not quite mirroring Dean with his forearms resting on his thighs, but definitely giving Dean his blunt attention. “You are Dean Winchester. You are either a mechanic or lawyer. You own an Impala. Your phone number is 576 555 7285. You broke the law with your father. You dropped out of high school. You underestimate yourself. You know me. You call me Cas. You’re respectful, patient, and kind.”

Internally, Dean winced. He didn’t think anyone else on the planet would describe him as respectful, patient, and kind. He didn't take much stock in the compliments when he was dealing with near-human Cas, but Intermediate Psychosis Amnesia Cas? He made it sound like a core characteristic of Dean.

At least someone would view him that way for a little while.

Trying to get over himself, he asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yes.” Cas paused. “No,” he answered instead, shoulders falling a little.

“Do you remember Hannah Carrol?”

“Yes.”

“Is she alive?”

Cas clenched his jaw, shoulders tensing again. “No.”

“Why isn’t she alive?”

“She was murdered.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it.”

“Do you remember seeing it?”

“I…” Cas visibly gulped, eyes showing a little panic.

Figuring he better stop that before Cas latched on to it, Missouri’s 90-emotion-whatever withstanding, Dean continued, “Do you remember being told you saw it.”

The panic vanishing a little, Cas said, “Yes. Several times.”

Dean nodded, taking a breath and leaning back some. “Again, why am I here?”

“To question me about Hannah’s murder.”

“What’s my name?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“How are you feeling? You okay?”

Cas took a breath as well, closing his eyes. “I think… I think I’m okay. I feel anger, fear, sad, hurt, and shame.”

“What?” Dean asked, taken completely off guard by the list.

Cas’ eyes opened again. “Out of the emotions.”

“What emotions?”

“The eight umbrella emotions.”

“Eight umbrella emotions?” Dean asked, a little sardonic, quirking a brow at the clear mental-health-handbook phrasing.

Cas’ expression turned fond again as he considered Dean. “There’s anger, glad, hurt, sad, lonely, fear, shame, and guilt.”

“You can remember that but not that I’m a mechanic?” Dean said incredulously.

Cas chuckled and looked at the wall by the bathroom door. There, printed big on white paper, were the emotions.

“Oh.”

Dean glanced around again, surprised he didn’t notice all the signs on the walls before then. Breakfast was at nine. The day nurse was Rachel. The windows were locked. Even small things like when he last had a haircut and that he was low on deodorant.

Cas shifted a little in his seat, getting Dean’s attention again.

“I have a lot of reminders,” he told Dean.

“I can see that. Let’s… Let’s get back on track. How are you?”

Cas looked at the clock on the wall above his door. “I will be fine for another three hours.”

“What happens in three hours?”

Cas visibly paled. He blinked furiously, like his eyes were trying to catch something, then said, “Nightshift.”

“You’re afraid of the night shift?” Dean guessed, judging by Cas' demeanor.

“Hannah was murdered at night.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trying to connect the dots and sitting forward again. Looking back at Cas, he said, “You said you feel different about night than you do about the murder. Remember?”

“I’m not afraid of the murder,” Cas whispered, so quietly Dean knew the recorder didn’t pick it up.

“Say that again.”

“Say what again?” Cas asked, eyes drifting toward the windows, that shift in them happening again. Before Dean could say anything else, Cas added, “A security guard saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“Hannah being murdered.”

Dean froze. He pushed a thousand thoughts and questions aside so hard and so fast, he felt his arms flex. Quickly trying to follow up before Cas’ train of thought derailed, he asked, “Someone else saw the murder?”

“Of course. We have cameras everywhere.”

“No, Cas, did you see someone else see the murder?”

Cas sighed, falling back against his chair. “The security guards must have seen it.”

“Because of… of the cameras?”

“The nighttime security guards are supposed to be very good.”

Dean nodded, not knowing exactly how to continue. The last thing he wanted to do was push Cas, especially if Sam was going to hear the tape. It also sounded like a no, no one else saw the murder since the cameras were disabled.

Before he decided where to go next, Cas added with a smile, looking back at Dean. “Hannah just had her bangs cut. Tessa did a great job.”

Dean sighed, reaching for the recorder. If Cas was talking about Hannah’s damn bangs again, he knew he wouldn’t get much else. He turned it off, tucked it back in his jean’s pocket, and tried to give Cas a smile, though his mind was working a thousand miles per minute. That was the second time Cas insisted the cameras caught what happened. Was that significant, or was Cas trying to comfort himself because he felt guilty not remembering, insisting that there had to be another way to ID the killer?

“Seriously,” Cas said, getting Dean’s attention again mostly because of the strange look Cas was giving him. “Even the security guard complimented them. Tessa did an excellent job.”

Dean nodded. “I know, Cas. I believe you.” He needed to leave, to think. Maybe he could come back tomorrow, try again.

Stretching a little and grabbing his jacket, he felt Cas watching him. Dean thought he heard Cas whisper, “You’re leaving," as he ruffled his jacket from folded to ready to wear.

Dean looked back at him, jacket still gripped in his hand. “Yeah, Cas. I should head off.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas said, frowning deeper than Dean had seen from the man yet.

Not exactly knowing how to handle this, Dean stood slowly, putting his jacket back on, trying to think of what to say. Cas stood as well, not only looking confused but… scared?

“Why are you leaving?” Cas asked.

Dean tried to smile reassuringly at Cas. “It’s okay, Cas. I’m just going home.”

Cas’ face smoothed out. “Home. Home is safe.”

“Yeah, Cas. I’ll be safe.”

Cas frowned again. “But I won’t be?”

Taking a breath, Dean put his hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You are safe. You’re at your home. New Life. Remember?”

That strange look trickled back into Cas’ face. “No. I don’t want to be here.”

Knowing he was way over his head, Dean moved his arm so it was around Cas’ shoulders and started leading Cas out. “It’s okay, Cas. You’re okay. I promise you’re safe. Let’s go… find someone you know.”

“I know you. Why can’t I stay with you?”

“Well,” Dean started, leading Cas in the hall and toward the nurse’s station. He tried to continue talking while following both physical signs and obvious ones to the nurse’s station (since he didn’t quite know where he was going - thank you inappropriate thoughts from earlier). “I don’t live here, Cas. We had a good… visit. But I need to go home, and I’m not allowed to take you with me.”

“What if I want to go with you?”

“I’m so sorry, Cas. You can’t. You live here.”

 _There_ , he thought, turning the corner. The nurse’s station was in sight. He could see Missouri, in day clothes, doubtlessly about to start her shift. Which gave Dean a little pause… Didn’t Cas say nightshift started in three hours?

Dropping his arm after a quick squeeze, he nodded toward Missouri.

Cas looked at where he nodded and smiled. Wide. “Missouri,” he called.

Missouri turned her head, smiling at Cas as well, and even at Dean.

They exchanged quick hellos, and Missouri seemed to immediately pick up on that Dean was trying to get Cas’ attention off of him. Missouri hugged Cas while motioning for Dean to go. Dean put his hand over his heart and mouthed, “Thank you. Take care of him,” to which she smirked and nodded.

He made his way to the end of the hall, down the elevator, and out into the parking lot.

Something didn’t sit right with him.

Okay, mostly how he just left didn’t sit right with him, but there was something else too.

That was the second time Cas mentioned going home with him (and not in a sexy way), and the third time Cas said he didn’t want to be there.

That weighed heavy on Dean. Cas had unquestionably been there for years. Dean would think that if Cas didn’t like it there that much, someone would have noticed and done something about it. Hell, his brother, Gabriel?, definitely seemed like the kind of guy to pay attention to that. Sure, someone was murdered there and Gabriel hadn’t moved Cas, but with how much Cas remembered Gabriel and with how much he clearly had done for Cas, that should speak for itself. Cas was safe there.

Surely, Cas didn’t like it there because of what he witnessed. New Life was a great place for Cas to be. Dean could tell that the moment he walked in. It wasn’t cheap, and Cas’ room was proof enough of how far they’d go to make sure he was comfortable.

Cas’ new nighttime fear was understandable.

But…

The murder was in July. It was nearly the end of October. If Cas had that big of a problem with it, wouldn’t it have shown before now?

Though, it might have. He had only known Cas for a month. He didn’t know the complete history of this. He barely knew anything. The most he knew was Cas’ side of things, and he had to admit, that was well and truly… unreliable.

And that, quite honestly, was starting to piss him off.

Something… Something wasn’t fucking right, goddamnit.

Something wasn’t right, and it didn’t have anything to do with Cas’ memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I don't even think Intermediate Psychosis Amnesia is even a thing. I made it up. If it turns out something like this is a thing, and I'm representing it wrong, let me know how to correct myself!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	6. Memories of You that I Can't Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he could say anything, a shorter man with brown hair and a glare stepped in front of Cas. “Dean-o! The Dean-myster. The Deany-lo. Teeny weeny Deany. Dean, Dean, Dean.” He crossed his arms, stepping a little to the left as if to shield Cas, even though he was way too short to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Burning Memories by Ray Price and the Cherokee Cowboys.
> 
> I am so excited for every comment, kudo, and hit. THANK YOU!!! Not only is the feedback so amazing, because you guys are amazing, but the questions, ideas, hints, and the like really help me keep crafting this story. (Don't worry, I know exactly where it's going and how it ends. I'm talking about the wrapping around the meat.)

Dean knew he should have probably warned Sam of the someone-else-saw-the-murder false alarm before he started listening to the tape, but damnit, watching Sam’s eyes get comically wide was totally worth the punch in the arm.

Fortunately, the DA’s newest tactic was to really lay into Kyle, squeezing him hard enough that something might slip out, so Cas could have a break. Dean suspected Sam had something to do with that because most of Sam’s bosses were outright pricks. That also meant it wasn’t the end of the world Dean came home empty-handed. The way Dean looked at it, that just gave him more time to visit Cas, keep building a rapport, and maybe see what Cas remembered when he wasn’t being blatantly interrogated. Interviewed. Questioned. Whatever.

Also, that meant they didn’t have to use the tape where Cas announced Dean and his dad broke the law together in that list of things he remembered about Dean. Hopefully, by now, Cas had forgotten that little tidbit.

Not to mention, Dean figured, what could it hurt to be Cas’ friend? Put a fucking smile on the guy’s face. Let the guy put a smile on his face. Hell, Cas would be a fun party game of sorts, once he got better enough to leave the hospital for a few hours. He could see it now. Every time Cas forgot what holiday it was: drink. Better yet – every time he forgot someone, they had to take a shot.

Ah shit. Sam would get fucking smashed.

Just that idea alone made Dean ask about the possibilities of Cas leaving the hospital in the future the next day when he came to visit - this time he was determined this would just be a social call. With an unhelpful, “That’s up to admin and his doctors,” the nurse led him outside to the garden. This was the earliest time of day Dean had come to see Cas, and apparently, Cas liked to spend his mornings with the fucking flowers (that weren’t there anymore because it was fucking autumn).

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said as he sat next to him on the bench. The bench was on the smaller side, so their knees brushed as Dean got comfortable. Dean wasn’t going to lie to himself, he liked the contact, but he was also not going to think about it.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted simply, a small smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“You doin’ okay today?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Yeah? What’s your remember pile this morning?” Dean asked playfully.

Cas seemed to pick up on the teasing and sent him a not-heated-whatsoever glare. “Mostly even, like most days.”

Dean thought about asking how the memory piles were before the murder, but he didn’t want to bring the investigation up. Instead, he leaned back and looked out over the dead garden.

After a good solid five minutes of comfortable silence, Cas asked, “Are you not questioning me today?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned at him.

“Ah, so we are friends,” Cas nodded, as though he picked the right answer to a multiple-choice question. Dean guessed Cas probably just did. In Cas’ mind, Dean was a lawyer, a mechanic, a friend, and a phone number, probably.

Dean hung his head to keep Cas from seeing his grin widen. Okay, so maybe he liked the attention Cas gave him. Sue him. “Yeah, Cas,” he laughed, clapping his knee. “We’re friends.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“It’s a Sunday. Shop’s closed on Sundays.”

“Are you religious?”

Instead of mudding Cas’ memory with an agnostic answer, Dean just said, “Nah. Just don’t get very many customers on Sundays to make it worth opening.”

“How long will you be visiting, then?”

“Probably a couple of hours.”

Cas hummed in assent then turned back to look out over the lawn. After a while, the nurse Meg brought out a book Cas apparently ordered, so, Dean and his new friend spent those hours sitting in the dead garden, Dean reading chapter one to Cas over and over.

When Sam got home later that night, Dean may have broken some boundaries, and, well, the law, to peek into some files and find out what actions were being taken to protect Cas now that Kyle was out on bail.

If Sam noticed Dean’s bad mood for the rest of the night, he didn’t say anything.

__

The next day, Dean spent his lunch break at New Life, but not visiting Cas.

“Just tell me who the patient is, and we’ll stop them sneaking into whoever’s room.”

“What?” Dean asked, sitting down across from Head of Security, a big definitely-couldn’t-chase-down-a-suspect kind of man named Tony.

“That’s what you’re here about, right?” Tony said matter-of-factly as he sat too. “A relative of yours is getting it on with another patient.”

“No – that? That happens?”

Tony snorted. “Oh, all the time. Biggest reason why families get up our asses.”

Dean briefly wondered if Cas ever “got it on” with another patient, but quickly shoved the thought aside. Not only was it not his business, but hello, rule number whatever: do not think of Cas and sex.

“So, how can I help you?” Tony asked, barely covering a burp.

“Oh,” Dean shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. “I’m here about Castiel Novak.”

“You family?”

“No, I’m helping on the case concerning Hannah Carrol.”

That got Tony’s attention. He straightened up a little, turning serious. After a beat, he said, “Shame, what happened.”

“I know. Listen, the suspect is out on bail, and I was wondering if you've put any measures in place to up the security around Cas, uh, Castiel. Mr. Novak.”

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Another young man from the DA’s office came by asking the same thing last week. Thing is, there’s not much we can do. We’ve hired a few more guards since… Hannah.” Tony let out a frustrated noise. “Wish I knew how that fucker got in here.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” Dean mumbled to himself. Speaking louder, he asked, “What else could you do?”

“Like I said, not much. Like I told the other guy, we could add an extra camera or two down his hall, maybe even station a guard outside his door. We already had tight security, and we upped it as much as we could after Hannah was killed.”

Dean nodded. Damnit.  “Let me take a guess and say the other guy who talked to you about it was named Sam Winchester?”

“Ugnh,” Tony elegantly grunted as he opened a drawer, shoving items aside until he picked up a card. “Yep. Samuel Winchester.”

“Awesome,” Dean smirked. Even stressed out, Sam was such a softy. “If you think of anything we can do to help, just call that number.”

“You ain’t got one?” Tony asked, brow popping up and suspicion leaking into his eyes.

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “Sammy’s my brother.” Then, figuring why the hell not, might help if security thought they were on their asses, too, added, “He sent me down, thinking a new face might cause inspiration.”

As he hoped, Tony huffed, clearly annoyed by that. “He think I was lying?”

“No idea,” Dean said casually, standing and holding out his hand. “I’m just a mechanic. Nice to meet you.”

Obviously begrudged, Tony stood and shook his hand. “Tell that boy if he wants to talk more about it, to call me.”

“Will do. I’ll just see myself out,” Dean smiled, jerking his thumb toward the door.

He was so resolutely _not_ thinking of ways he could add protection around Cas as he made his way out, he was startled by a confused voice saying, “Dean?” by the time he reached the lobby.

Turning, feeling like he was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he tried to smile at a pleasantly surprised looking Cas.

Before he could say anything, a shorter man with brown hair and a glare stepped in front of Cas. “Dean-o! The Dean-myster. The Deany-lo. Teeny weeny Deany. Dean, Dean, Dean.” He crossed his arms, stepping a little to the left as if to shield Cas even though he was way too short to do that.

Dean glanced up at Cas, who was mirroring what had to be a confused expression on his own face, then back at the guy. The man's eyes were challenging. He was looking at Dean as though he was both trying to get a read on him and like he wanted to stab him.

Dean didn’t think he had ever seen someone act like this, but he could remember a time when he did himself when he thought an eight-year-old Sam was getting too buddy-buddy with the daughter of the guy John was after.

“Let me guess,” Dean smirked, holding himself tall. “Gabriel?”

“Damn straight. So, you’re the Dean Winchester, part lawyer, part mechanic, part criminal who lied about going to college, who took Cas on a speeding car ride, read to him, and just happens to be ‘helping’ my little brother remember a murderer?”

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed, throwing his head back and gripping his stomach. When he calmed down some, Cas was closer to him than before, obviously getting Gabriel’s hackles up. Dean stepped closer to Cas, throwing an arm around his shoulders, smiling down at Gabriel. “Almost.” He took a moment to shake Cas a little, tossing him a grin. “I’m Dean Winchester, mechanic, who told Cas a story about Dad and me skirting the law and getting caught. My brother’s the lawyer. He’s swamped with the case of Hannah Carrol, so I helped out. That’s how I met your brother.” He patted Cas on the shoulder before removing his arm. “I’ve been helping interview him, in case he remembers something. As far as the speeding car ride,” Dean tossed Cas another grin, “Cas told me about how he wished he recorded driving on 340, so I did and showed him. Still got the video, if you want to see.”

“The reading?”

“Yesterday. Read to him a little bit in the garden.”

“And the lying about going to college?”

“I dropped out of high school. Got my GED, though. Never said nothin’ ‘bout college.”

Gabriel nodded stiffly then looked at Cas. “Might want to work on bragging about your boyfriend.”

“Woah,” Dean waved a hand. “Friend. We’re friends.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Sure. Tell me about this law you broke with your old man.”

“Uh…” Dean shifted on his feet some, more not wanting to confess in front of Cas rather than Gabriel. Not to mention it was an incident they got away with. As in not charged. Just caught by the dude whose house they broke into and then convinced him they were there because John thought it was his house, and Dean was trying to get him home. “Dad was a PI. I was helping him on a case, got stuck in a sticky situation.”

“It’s because his father’s senile,” Cas added, looking sternly at Gabriel. “He forgets he’s not a PI anymore.”

Dean chuckled. Cas was so wrong, but he looked so fucking righteous. Defending Dean aside, of course, Dean noted how quickly Cas tried to piece together information. “Almost, but good job, Cas,” Dean smiled at him. “We were backed into a corner, and Dad _pretended_ to be senile.”

Cas frowned at him but didn’t say anything.

When he looked back at Gabriel, he was glaring more strongly at Dean than before. “Huh,” Gabriel spat.

“Yeah,” Dean spat back, feeling defensive. “That was years ago. Dad’s dead. Anything else, _Gabe_?”

“Nope, _Dean-o_ ,” Gabe said with a small bounce. “Well, I think it’s time to leave.” He turned his head to address Cas, but his expression quickly changed.

Before Dean could tell what the expression meant, Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and became distracted by Cas speaking to him. “Yes, Dean. We must be going. It was wonderful to see you again.”

“Cassy," Gabe sighed. “We just talked about this. You’re staying here. I’m the one leaving.”

Dean slowly looked back at Gabe, who was looking softly at Cas. “He does this with you too?”

Gabe glared at Dean briefly, like he didn’t like the idea of Cas doing that with him before he answered looking at Cas. “Only the past month or so. Cassy, are you sure you’re okay? Do you miss the home?”

“The home?” Dean asked.

“I am fine, Gabriel,” Cas spoke over Dean. “Let’s go home.”

“Cassy, this is your home. For seven years now.”

“What home?” Dean interrupted, wondering if they should stop saying the word 'home' so as to not confuse Cas any more than they probably were. He took a very, very small and minute step closer to Cas that didn’t go unnoticed by Gabe.

“What’s it to you?”

“I was in a home for a while,” Cas answered instead. “After Hannah. To recover away from… Or... no, we're going home now, yes?”

Dean put a hand on his shoulder again. “Is it too hard, Cas? Especially at night, being here?”

“Night?” Gabe asked. “Are the new meds not working?”

Cas looked between them. “I…”

Dean was content on waiting for Cas’ mind to decide if it wanted to be present or not, but apparently, Gabe wasn’t.

“Nights?” Gabe asked again, this time to Dean, thumping him on the arm.

“Cas has been having bad nights.”

“Duh,” Gabe said. “That’s why we switched his meds.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean sighed, trying to give Cas an apologetic look. “Sorry, Cas. Are you okay with me telling your brother what I think?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas smiled at him. That twinkle was there. That all-out innocence. Lucid Cas was not in the building.

Dean cleared his throat, wanting to pull Gabe aside but knowing Cas would either follow or wander off. “The last time I interviewed Cas, he admitted he had a problem with nights. That he wasn’t fine during the nights. And, he mentioned he wasn’t going to be fine when nightshift started, but I don’t think he was coherent about what time that was. He even thought it was already night at one point when it was late afternoon with the sun up. I was thinking that when employees that were working that night are, well, working, it doesn’t settle right with Cas.”

Dean had actually thought a lot about that. He didn’t like how much Cas didn’t want to be there – apparently his home of seven fucking years. It was the only thing that made sense. He knew Tessa was working that night, not Missouri, and though he didn’t know how close Missouri and Cas were before, they were definitely close now.  Hell, they fucking _hug_. Cas obviously afraid of nightshift, then Cas seeing Missouri and obviously happy to see her… Dean thought employees had to play a role in this somehow.

“Hannah was murdered at night,” Cas said, a seriousness about him.

“He said that too,” Dean added, giving Cas a small, encouraging smile. It seemed to be what Cas needed because Cas returned it, visibly releasing tension.

Gabe sighing heavily caught both their attention. “That makes sense. I guess, thanks, or whatever. He was fine for a while though,” Gabe said the last part really low, as though to himself.

“How long?” 

“What?” both Gabe and Cas asked.

“How long was he back and fine being here?”

“Oh,” Gabe waved him off, as though he was an insignificant fly, clearly going back to his own thoughts as he answered, “just around a month. Been back for almost two.”

“Do you miss the home, Cas?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the question to sink in, Cas more focused on Gabe. When it did occur to Cas what Dean just asked, he smiled and said, “The home was comfortable enough, but I missed my friends.”

“Well, I’m off!” Gabe announced, seemingly done with his thinking. “Enjoy your visit. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he winked at Cas.

Dean quickly pulled out his phone, checking the time. His lunch break ended three minutes ago. “Actually,” Dean said. “I can’t stay.”

“Oh, really?” Gabe asked, crossing his arms again. “Were you not here for Cas?”

“Uh,” Dean started. “No, actually. I said I was helping out my brother, right? Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

“If you're helping your brother, the lawyer, what else could you do other than talk to Cassy?”

“Uh,” Dean said again. Repeating the lie he told Tony, “Kyle’s out on bail. Just…” he glanced at Cas, thinking of the DA’s worry that Cas knowing Kyle was out and could influence his memory – or just fucking upset him, and added vaguely, “just, talking to security.”

“Kyle? Bail?” Cas asked. “Is he your father? The security here is very good. They can help you find him. Also, the staff here has a lot of experience dealing with senile people. They could advise the best way to find him.”

Dean could feel his own features relax and soften at Cas’ apt attention and genuine concern. It was cute how hard Cas tried to connect information. “Thanks, Cas,” he said. “That’s really helpful. I’ll talk to them.”

Cas nodded. “Good. I hear the nighttime security here is very good. He won’t escape.”

“I know, Cas,” Dean tried reassuring him. “You've told me. He’s safe, just like you.”

“Yeah,” Gabe chirped, interrupting. “Good to meet you,” he said to Dean with a stink-eye. “Bye, Cassy,” he then gave Cas a hug. He waved to both of them, then turned and went straight to the door that led to security.

Good man, Dean thought. Good brother. Also, it could only help for a third person to talk to Tony about Cas’ safety.

Dean turned back to Cas, taken aback by how expectant Cas looked. “Are you ready to go?” Cas asked.

Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head. He looked back at Cas, saying, “I’m leaving, but you’re staying.”

Cas frowned.

Dean and Cas were standing a respectable distance apart, but Dean stepped just a little closer to ask softly, “Is there a reason you don’t want to stay here, Cas?”

Cas blinked but said nothing.

When it was clear Cas wasn't going to answer, he sighed, stepping back and asking, “Do you remember my number?”

“576 555 7285.”

“Awesome, Cas,” Dean smiled. “Perfect.”

Cas nodded, pride practically oozing from his pores.

“Call me, okay? Tonight, or any night, if you don’t feel okay. Okay?”

Cas nodded.

“What did I just ask you?”

“To call you.”

“Why would you call me?”

“If I wasn’t okay.”

“Who am I?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“What’s my number?”

“576 555 7285.”

“Why would you call me?”

Cas hesitated. “If… If I remember something.”

Dean shook his head. “Call me if you aren’t okay.”

“I’ll call you if I’m not okay.”

“Who am I?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“What’s my number?”

“576 555 7285.”

“Why would you call me?”

“If I’m not okay or if I remember something.”

Dean huffed happily. He didn’t think about combining them. “Actually, yeah. That’s great. Again.”

“Your name is Dean Winchester. Your phone number is 576 555 7285. I need to call you if I remember something or if I’m not okay.”

“One more time.”

“Your name is Dean Winchester. Your phone number is 576 555 7285. If I remember…. If I remember something about Hannah, or if I am not okay, I need to call you.”

Dean nodded, wondering if that was enough. Knowing he would see Cas again, but getting that unsettling feeling, Dean reached over and hugged Cas. He couldn’t fucking help it. Kyle was out there, Cas was scared of the dark, Sam was wearing himself thin, this Hannah was dead, Dean was fucking powerless, and the best security could do was place a camera and guard on Cas’ floor.

And damn it all to hell, he would do almost anything for his father’s insight on the whole damn thing.

Cas held on, tightly, and it was a gentle struggle to get him to let go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Cas?”

Cas nodded, face blank as ever. Dean looked around, catching the eye of that Meg chick. Nodding towards Cas, he turned back to the man himself.

“Meg’s going to take you where you want to go, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to work. I’m a mechanic,” he added on for good measure.

“Is your car okay?” Cas asked with a worried look.

“Baby’s perfect. Just got to earn some money.”

Cas’ eyes went wide. “No, Dean. My brother has money. He’ll loan you some. You don’t have to sell yourself like that.”

Dean’s head fell back as he repressed a groan. “Cas, please don’t add another profession in my Cas-life. I ain’t no hooker.”

“Hey, sweetie,” came Meg’s voice. She put a hand on Cas' arm to get his attention, though she smirked at Dean, clearly having just heard that last part. “I hear they’re going to play a movie in the rec room this afternoon.”

“That would be enjoyable.”

“I thought so. Want to join me?”

“I…” Cas looked back to Dean questionably.

“Go on, Cas,” Dean said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your movie.”

Cas smiled at Dean then he let himself be led away by Meg.

Once Cas was out of sight, Dean sigh, loud and heavy. Cas was… well, basically crazy, if he was going to be completely callous about it. He had been trying his best not to actually interfere with Sam’s work. Ignoring that he was there to literally interfere with Sam’s work by talking to New Life’s security, he tried to separate helping Sam out and his own life. Cas, as a friend, was part of his life. If his brain wanted to make connections among what he learned talking to security  _for his friend, his friend's_ behavior, and the case, no one else had to know.

Because this wasn’t his life. Just like he continued to tell Cas, he was a mechanic. His life was cars, whiskey, cigars, and one night stands. Not court dates and filing motions.

Though, he reasoned with himself, his life was taking care of Sam. That was what he was doing, his way and not all the lawyering stuff. That was how all this started.

He was helping Sam.


	7. I'm Wide Awake on Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s face was serious as he turned on the dishwasher and exited without another word, going straight to his office. Dean didn’t like how confident Sam was when he himself was beginning to have doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Memories Can't Wait by Talking Heads

When his phone rang for the fourth time that night, Dean realized he was the stupidest son of a bitch on the whole fucking planet for ever giving that Forgetful Jones his goddamn number.

He rolled over to stare daggers at the lit-up phone on his bedside table; his vintage radio alarm seemed to be glaring at it, too, with its bright neon red 3:26. Flopping onto his stomach with his head pressed into his pillow, he slapped the table a little too hard as he picked up the phone.

What’d you know, New Life calling.

He might not have been enough of an ass to ignore the call completely, but he was enough of one to bark, “What?” into the receiver.

“Dean?” came Cas’ confused voice _again_.

“Yes, Castiel. We’ve been over this. When you call my number, I am the one who will answer. Stop sounding so fuckin' surprised every damn time.”

“My apologies,” Cas said, not even sounding fucking fazed by Dean’s tone. He was either remembering enough to know he was pissing Dean off to not be surprised or was immediately fucking forgetting to remember he was pissing Dean off. Cas had sundown'd, and apparently fighting sleep on his new medication just made him all the worse.

Dean wasn’t the only one Cas was pissing off, though.

“Castiel,” came the now familiar voice of nurse Ruby in the background. “Again with the phone?”

“I’m speaking with Dean.”

“Go figure. Get off the damn phone, Castiel, and go to bed.”

“But Dean had something important to tell me.”

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted. “You called me. Go. To. Bed.”

“Oh. Then I must have had something important to tell you.”

Dean propped himself up on an elbow, trying to focus, to be more awake and with it. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Goddamnit, Cas,” Dean barked again, dropping back down with half his face smooshed against the pillow. “Go to bed.”

“Come on, give me the phone,” Ruby’s voice said.

“No,” Cas said like a petulant child. “I’m speaking with Dean.”

“No, you’re going to bed. Hand me the phone,” she replied.

“Hand her the phone, Cas,” Dean mumbled, eyes already shut.

“But…” Cas said, directing his voice back into the receiver. “I thought you wanted to talk to me?”

“I just want to get some sleep, Cas!”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Cas apparently was telling Ruby, sounding damn smug about it too.

“Hand her the phone, Cas,” Dean said at the same time Ruby snapped, “Give me the damn thing.”

Ruby had apparently snatched it out of Cas’ hands because the next thing Dean heard was a click, and the call ended. After the second time Ruby caught Cas, she wasn’t even bothering apologizing to Dean or informing him she was hanging up. Which was fine with Dean. He didn’t like that bitch anyway. She acted like Cas constantly sneaking out of bed to call him was Dean’s fault.

As if. She was the one not watching him or the phones.

Dean tossed his phone back on the table and rolled over, putting his back to it. He fell back to sleep almost immediately, his last thought being that he should give Cas’ doctor a good talking to about prescribing sleeping pills that would, oh, he didn’t know, fucking work?

An hour and a half later at 5 am, Dean was woken up by some classic rock floating out of his alarm. He was dead tired, but oh god, it felt good not to be waking up to ringing. He turned it off and laid on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. His dark green sheets were tangled around his bare legs that stretched from his red boxers, and he had a hand on his chest, thumb rubbing it a little, while he thought about the day ahead of him.

Oh god, what if Cas kept calling while he was at work? If a snappy Ruby wasn’t enough, adding a snappy Bobby would be a perfect recipe for one hell of a headache.

Advil. He was going to have to buy some.

Slowly, thinking of the cars waiting for him at the shop, Dean was able to pull himself into full consciousness. He put on his robe but didn’t bother to tie it as he made his way to the kitchen.

Coffee pot on, doing its job, check.

Food in the fridge, waiting to be cooked, check.

Sammy in bed, waiting to be woken up to frying eggs and his brother's bad singing…. Uncheck.

Dean frowned, having poked his head into his little brother’s room. The bed was made like Sam hadn’t even been in it.

Which meant…

Sammy asleep at his desk, awaiting a sore neck and well-deserved back popping, check.

“Hey,” Dean wacked Sam upside the head, receiving a startled snort and a flailing of hands. “Get up.”

“Dean?” Sam groggled, rubbing his face before pushing his hair back. “What time is it?”

“Just after 5.”

“In the morning?” Sam asked, the unexpected time seeming to wake him up more.

“Yep. You did it again. Come on, get up, see if you can’t beat the sun.”

Sam squinted out the window beside him, as though he was a personal time dial and had to confirm what Dean said. The sky was dark navy blue, hinting the sunrise was coming. Looking as tired as Dean felt, Sam nodded, standing, and slouched his way out of the room with a mumbled announcement that he was going to take a shower.

Dean turned to follow him out when something caught his eye.

Sam’s movement had stirred his laptop to life, and on it, full screen, was a paused video of an interrogation room. The back of Sam’s head along with one of his coworkers', Tim, filled the bottom screen, but the main focus was on none other than Kyle Carrol sitting across from them.

Dean reached out his hand automatically to push play, but then stopped himself.

“Not my case, not my place,” he muttered, forcing himself to look away and leave. He stopped off by his room to get his phone, relieved there were no missed calls from New Life.

He just finished pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee when he heard the shower being turned on down the hall.

Poor Sam. He was probably going to be in there a while, massaging out his stiff muscles from sleeping at his desk all night.

Dean would have to get onto him about that. Being that tired while looking through the footage could cause him to miss something.

‘Course, Sam would probably just snap at him. Tell him he wasn’t reporting to Dean. That he knew what he was doing. That he didn’t need his help.

But this was a big case for him. Dean didn’t want Sam to blow it over a little thing like being tired.

Deciding that Sam worked too hard and needed his help, Dean found himself standing over Sam’s desk, looking at the paused video.

Dean could easily help Sam with little hints and shit like that, he reasoned. Sam loved talking about his work. Dean could easily get him worked up and casually leave bread crumbs to lead Sam to something he missed.

If he missed anything, that was. It wasn’t like Dean would use any information he would learn for anything other than that, so if Sam hadn't missed anything, what harm would there be? Sure, Sam sometimes told him confidential things he really shouldn’t know, but that was because Sam knew he could trust Dean. Besides, who would Dean tell? Not like anyone else was interested in all this boring law shit.

Taking an innocent sip of his coffee while looking toward the door, Dean listened for the shower.

Yep, still running.

Without a second thought, Dean turned down the volume, just to be safe, and pushed play.

“ – elling you I didn’t do it!” Kyle was yelling at Sam and Tim, hands palm up on the table, a desperate look on his face.

“You can stop with that party line,” Tim said. “We don’t believe you.”

“Just talk to us,” someone off screen, most likely some detective, said. “We can help you if you just tell us what happened.”

“Nothing happened because I didn’t do it!”

“Kyle,” Sam interrupted. Sam leaned forward some, and by his tone of voice, Dean could already picture Sam’s puppy-dog eyes. “It’s okay. We get it, we really do. It must have been really hard for you, to see Hannah relapse like that.”

“Yeah,” Kyle nodded, quickly, eyes wide. “It was. It really was. I wish I was the type of guy to stay with someone like that, I really, really do! But it was too hard! I love Hannah with everything I have, but I just can’t be that person!”

“That’s okay,” Sam soothed. “It’s difficult, I know. It takes a special person to care for someone with Hannah’s conditions. You can’t blame yourself for not being able to handle it.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed again. Dean smirked. Way to go, Sammy. “I know. But it’s hard, y’know? I thought New Life would be the best place for her. A-and it was! She - she got better!”

“So, you wanted her back,” came that off-screen voice again.

Kyle shook his head vehemently, looking determined, causing Dean to frown and pause with his cup halfway to his mouth. “No, I didn’t!”

“We have phone records of you calling her relatives, looking for her,” Sam stated, voice still soft.

“I just wanted to see her! See how she was!”

“And meet her new boyfriend?” Tim asked.

Kyle shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he was good for her. Better than I was, at least.”

“Because you loved her.”

“Exactly! I could never hurt her!”

“And yet,” said the off-screen guy, “Hannah’s brother said you weren’t too happy about him.”

Kyle threw out his arms. “Who cares if I was jealous! That didn’t mean I killed her! Plus! Plus! Wouldn’t I have just killed him if I was jealous enough to commit murder?”

Dean hummed, thinking the same thing.

“Maybe,” the off-screen voice continued. “But Hannah relapsed.”

“You weren’t going to have her either way, huh?” Tim asked. “Out of New Life, she had someone else. In New Life, you said yourself you couldn’t handle it.”

“So what?” Kyle yelled. “What do you think? I couldn’t have her, so I made sure no one could?!”

“We don’t know,” Sam said. “You tell us.”

“No! I was happy for her! Even when she was back in New Life, she was still making progress!”

Someone else said something, but Dean stopped the video and tried to rewind it back to where it was. The shower was still running, but Dean didn’t want to get too dragged in and then caught red-handed.

He returned to the kitchen, frown still in place, as he set his barely touched coffee down and started pulling out eggs.

He did not like what he just saw. Not one bit.

A lot of what Kyle said made sense, and even followed in line with some of the things Cas told him. Which if Cas actually remembered something, that was a good gauge of the truth in Dean’s book. It was still super fucking suspicious that Kyle was still in contact if he just wanted to check in on Hannah when she was out, but fuck.

The way the guy was acting, the desperate look in his eyes...

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that was the look of an innocent man.

__

“You look serious,” Sam said later that night. Sam was just getting home; whereas Dean had been home for a few hours, fielding calls from Cas since it got dark and watching westerns in-between time, the television the only light save for what was flowing out of the kitchen. He was in nothing but grey sweats, beer bottle firm in his hand and twirling his phone around in the other.

Dean shrugged, not bothering to look at Sam as he joined him on the couch. Sam had already taken off his jacket and tie, his button up’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a plate of warmed up tacos, crunching on them loudly.

“What’s up?” Sam asked around his food.

“Hold on,” Dean said, knowing full well what time it was.

Sam frowned and opened his mouth full of taco mush, probably to ask why, when Dean’s phone rang.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, not even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said.

“How goes the movie?”

“I hear laughter from the rec room, so I assume it’s going well. Are you watching something too? I hear noise.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, pretty numb to telling Cas this again. “Just an old western.”

“You like westerns.”

“That I do. You okay?”

“I believe so.”

“You still nervous about bed?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay, Cas. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so,” Cas sighed.

“Go back to the movie. I’ll tell you again in twenty.”

“Okay, Dean. Thank you.”

“Talk to you in a bit.”

“Goodbye.”

Dean ended the call then tilted his head some toward Sam, eyes not leaving the television. “What’d you say?”

Sam snickered, lifting his plate up to hold under his chin. “Castiel is calling you every twenty minutes?”

“Yeah, Missouri’s keeping him on a schedule.”

“Was he why your phone kept ringing last night?”

“Better get used to it.”

Sam snorted. “Really, Dean? You need to set boundaries with him.”

“Hence the schedule.”

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam continued lowering his plate to focus on him. “He’s a witness to the case. You can’t go getting attached.”

Finally, Dean turned to look at him, quirking a brow and lifting his phone to waggle it at Sam. “Yeah, because I’m the one attached.”

“You’re letting him call you every twenty minutes.”

“You heard my phone ringing last night. D'you think I can stop him?”

Sam sighed, going back to his tacos. “Is that why your sitting in the dark, pouting?”

“I’m not pouting,” Dean spat, taking a swig of his beer before crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Whatever, Dean.”

They sat in silence as Sam finished eating. After a while, Sam returned his plate to the kitchen, and Dean heard him starting the dishes. Cas called once before he was finished, and Dean had him hand the phone over to Missouri to set up another schedule since New Life was about to have lights out. New schedule as in, Cas would call right before bedtime, then hopefully won’t sneak out to call him anymore that night.

Dean wanted to wait to talk to Sam until after, but Sam would probably lock himself away in his office soon. So, taking the opening afforded to him, he wandered to the kitchen, spotting Sam loading the dishwasher.

Dean had been thinking all day, and though he wasn’t going to fess up to watching the video that morning, his brain wasn’t going to stop pestering him until he got something off his chest.

“Hey, Sam,” he began, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. “How’s the case going?”

“About the same,” he answered, adjusting the top rack to add a bowl.

“D’you ever think there’s so little evidence because Kyle didn’t do it?”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “No. He did it. I can feel it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, shutting the dishwasher and turning to face Dean as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “No doubt about it. And I’m starting to think he’s going to get away with it.”

“Nothing shaking loose from the Kyle-interrogation tree?”

“Nope. He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that,” Sam sighed again. “I don’t think he’s going to crack.”

Sam’s face was serious as he turned on the dishwasher and exited without another word, going straight to his office. Dean didn’t like how confident Sam was when he himself was beginning to have doubts.

Dean turned off the television and shut himself in his room. Digging into his bag, Dean pulled out the notepad he used when he first interviewed Cas, going over his notes. If Kyle didn’t do it, Cas was trying to remember someone else. With everyone believing it was Kyle, then his concern about leading Cas and planting false memories might be valid.

He was considering what might be so damn important to Cas about Hannah’s damn bangs when his phone rang. Without taking his eyes off the pages, he answered, “Hey, Cas.”

“Dean.”

“Time for bed, huh?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“How are ya feelin’?”

“Strange, honestly. And tired.”

Dean flopped the notepad on the bed next to him, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees, frowning. “You sound it. Day wear you out?”

“More like anxiety, I think.”

“Cas… Why are you scared?”

Cas sighed, heavy and deep. “Honestly, Dean? I have the feeling that if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

That was a red flag if there ever was one. “Is… is it a someone you’re scared of?”

Dean waited patiently, but after a good full minute, Cas said, “I have to go, Dean. Goodnight,” and hung up.

Dean tossed his phone over his shoulder and rubbed his eyes.

He didn’t like this at all.

Cas kept him up again, although he didn’t call. Apparently, Missouri had better control over him than Ruby. But Dean still tossed and turned, doubts over everything about the fucking case keeping him from sleep.

After a little after 2 am, Dean got up and got a glass of water, sipping it in the dark while staring out the window. Not satisfied with the distraction, Dean looked for a snack and started eating a cold taco over the sink. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but it served to give him a moment of clarity by distracting him minutely.

After hours of turning it over in his head, Dean could finally admit that what was bothering him the most was that it was very possible Cas was scared because, if Kyle was innocent, the real murderer was threatening him. Which meant the real murderer could approach him. Talk to him. Any time they wanted.

A noise brought Dean out of his thoughts, sounding like a low playing radio. Tossing the rest of the taco in the trash, Dean quietly hunted it down.

It was coming from Sam’s office, the door cracked. Sam was watching the interrogation video again. Dean stood outside the door, listening.

Kyle was adamantly trying to get them to believe he didn’t do it, and with the cracks in his voice, Dean clenched his fists.

By the end of the video, Dean’s stomach was twisted, and not just because of the taco. No, his stomach was twisted because of something his gut was telling him.

Kyle Carrol was fucking innocent.

__

The early morning light was gentle and thin. The only sound breaking the peaceful silence around the storage units was the sound of crunching gravel from tires and the Impala’s rumbling engine. The rising sun was causing glints coming off of the car and the metal corners on the unit facing it.

A small squeak sounded as the Impala rolled to a stop, and the engine being cut off blanketed that area in heavy silence once more. After a few moments, a louder squeak sounded as Dean climbed out of the car and shut the door. His footsteps resulted in crunching sounds much quieter than the tires, and his keys jingled as he crouched down in front of one of the units and unlocked the padlock. The last sound was a loud clinging metal as Dean rolled up the door.

The smell of whiskey, leather, old papers, and tobacco hit Dean as he straightened up, tucking his hands with the keys and lock in his leather jacket while he considered the contents of the unit, his breath visible in the cold morning air.

Since neither son followed their father’s footsteps, Sam thought it was ridiculous for Dean to keep this unit. He probably thought Dean had gotten rid of it by now.

But Dean could never get rid of the storage items of John Winchester, PI.

Finally, after several long moments, Dean nodded to himself and whispered, “Alright, Dad. Let’s get to work.”


	8. Sweet, Sweet Memories of Days Gone By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, so, have you heard about the Hannah Carrol murder?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Memories by The Tempations

Bobby wasn’t too happy about Dean calling out sick for a few days, but when he told Bobby to keep an eye out because he might be coming to him for help, he started singing a different tune. ‘Course, that went away almost immediately when Dean asked him not to breathe a word to Sam, but still.

Dean had tried to go back to bed that night, but he decided that if Sam was barking up the wrong tree – and knew that Sam wouldn’t listen to him if he tried to convince him otherwise – that not only could an innocent man go to prison, but Cas could be in some serious danger that wouldn’t go away if Kyle was convicted.

So, Dean did what he never thought he’d do. He convinced Sam to go to bed, then when he knew Sam was well and good asleep, he grabbed his digital camera and took very, very illegal photos of everything Sam had at home about the case. He even sent copies of the videos and recordings Sam had to his own laptop, too, and deleted the evidence.

Dean couldn’t give a flying fuck about breaking the law, but he didn’t like having to go behind Sam’s back. He was going to start his own very illegal investigation, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to talk to Sam some more.

But that was for later.

Currently, Dean was deciding that when all of this was over, he was going to start making regular trips to John’s storage unit and clean the damn thing. He lost count how many times he sneezed by the dust he kept kicking up.

By mid-morning, he broke down and ran to the store, buying as many cleaning products as he could, then spent the rest of the morning rearranging the unit and making it into a makeshift office.

His dad’s old printer was fucking ancient, though, so he broke down again and ran to Walmart, picking up a new one. While he was out, he also stopped by Office Max for some supplies then to Kroger for beer to fill up John’s old mini-fridge, knowing his dad’s generator still worked and would keep it running for a while.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he had everything the way he needed. He hung up some old bulletin boards on the wall next to an old desk, the one he had to grunt and push from the corner where a bunch of old files in boxes were. He loaded all the pictures he took onto his Mac, printed them, and organized them, even file-separated them into his own fucking categories – Sam’s way not making a lick of sense to him. Then he hung up the pictures of the crime scene, the mug shot of Kyle, and some stills from the security cameras from earlier in the evening before the murder took place and the cameras were disabled.

Now that the unit was aired out, Dean closed the door, the overhead light and the lamp on the desk both on, and settled in with a new notebook and his new pens, a refreshing beer on a coaster.

First things first, he listened to and watched everything he got off Sam’s computer.

Then he picked through all the material – the reports, the documented interviews, the police files, detective files, DA files. Damn, Sam brought a lot home at night.

“Okay,” he sighed out loud, leaning back on the stool he was sitting on, hands behind his head. “Let’s think… There is something probably glaringly obvious everyone is missing.” He tapped his foot while he thought through all the information he just went over, trying to see if he could spot it. But according to everything he read, everything was by-the-book, simple, and pointed straight to Kyle.

He closed his eyes, willing memories of his time with his father to come to him.

__

_“We’re missing something,” Dean whined. He and John sat at a small kitchenette table in the motel suite they were staying at, the table covered in papers and pictures his father illegally obtained from the police._

_“You don’t say,” John hummed, lighting a cigarette, watching his son in amusement._

_The twenty-one-year-old Dean from eleven years ago groaned, going back to the first file he looked at that night._

_“Being pissy ‘bout it won’t help.”_

_“Oh, my bad,” Dean snapped. “Let me just put my bad mood in my pocket for later.”_

_John chuckled, leaning forward and snatching the file from Dean’s hands._ _Dean sighed, flopping his elbows on the table. He knew that chuckle. It was the let’s-use-this-as-a-teaching-moment chuckle. “What do you think you’re missin’, Dean?”_

_Dean rolled his eyes and gestured toward the mess on the table. “If I knew that, I’d be able to piece this shit together.”_

_“Or,” John smiled, taking a drag of smoke, “there is literally a missing piece.”_

_It took a moment for John’s hint to sink in. Then Dean smiled. “We’re literally missing information, not misinterpreting it.”_

_“Bingo,” John winked._

__

Dean’s eyes snapped open. He smiled then sent a wink towards the ceiling, aiming for wherever the spirit of John was.

He grabbed another beer, turned a page in the notebook he already wrote some notes in, then started outlining a plan.

Oh, how by-the-book Sam had been.

__

“Ash, get your ass up and get to work!” Ellen yelled from across the bar, voice barely floating through the noise.

The Roadhouse was loud, packed to the brim with customers, all shouting, cussing, banging down drinks, and laughing it up.

Ash groaned. “Odio esto.” He pulled himself up from where he was napping from behind the bar, then turned to face the room full of drunks, clapping his hands.

The guy right in front of him was picking his nose, snorting a little as he watched the television above the bar, barely moving his palm out of the way as he slurped his beer.

“Yeah… no,” Ash decided. He ducked, just in case Ellen would see, and paddle walked to the end of the bar, down the hallway, then turned and booked it up the stairs to his room.

Jo could suck his balls, his room rocked. Seven high-tech monitors, and just one fucking keyboard. Orgásmico. It was a pain in the ass to get a long, sturdy table up there, and he had to downsize his king to a twin, but boy oh boy. There was a constant hum of eleven working hard drives, and it was música to his ears.

And right now, there was a Baltimore police station trying to hide a hate crime he needed to expose. Stretching and cracking his fingers, Ash high kicked over the back of his Pursuit Ergonomic chair, reminding him he needed to change underwear eventually, and wiggled his ass comfortably down. He figured he had about ten minutes before Ellen sent someone for him, and that was more than enough time to look at the last of the evidence he ran and post an outed tweet.

As soon as he put in his password, waking up all monitors, his cell phone rang.

“Hola, hola, amigo,” he greeted, feeling happy but reasonably suspicious to be getting a call from Dean fucking Winchester.

“Hey, Ash. How ya been?”

“Oh, you know. Little hierba, little coño, can’t complain. How ‘bout you, grand master of future transformers?”

“Takin’ a break from robo buildin’,” Dean answered, a smile evident in his voice. “Actually calling because I need a favor.”

“You name it; I’ll name my price.”

“Price?”

“Favors don’t come for free, tonto.”

“Alright.” Dean cleared his throat. “I need you to find everything you can about a few folks.”

“Who are?” Ash asked, immediately opening up a note app with a few clicks of his fantasía como jodor of a keyboard. Wireless too. His set up was sweeeet.

“Hannah Carrol, Kyle Carrol, Castiel Novak, Tessa Reap, and Rufus Turner.”

“Let’s see,” Ash said, typing out the names to the best of his spelling. “That’s five people, so that makes five bottles of The Kraken.”

Dean chuckled through the line, a sound Ash hadn’t heard in years. “Deal. Is it upfront payment, or can I do installments?”

“Installments will do, I guess. You know where I am. Just don’t make it obvious what you’re sending.”

He heard Dean huff. “Yeah, I heard about that. How’s it workin’ out for Ellen to be your personal rehab center.”

Ash gave what he knew was an overdramatic sigh. “’Bout as well as you’d think. Hey, wanna say hi to anyone?”

“Not yet, but I might call back. Can you text me the numbers of everyone there? Not sure how up-to-date I am. Good thing you never change your fucking number.”

“And give the cell companies access to my location and porn? No way, man. But sure, I’ll send ‘em along.”

“Thanks, man. How fast do you think you can get the info?”

“Depends. How fast do you need it?”

“Uh… Now possible?”

“Nope. Probably in the next couple of days.”

“Send along what you have as you have it.”

“Sure thing. What's your email.”

“Oh. Yeah, uh… Probably need a separate one for this.”

“Gmail, man. Free, secure, customizable. I’d go with D dot Winchester.”

“Already got it.”

“Then… W dot Dean?”

“Okay,” Dean sighed, and Ash heard typing on the other end. “Doing that now. Thanks, Ash.”

“Anytime, amigo. Don’t be a stranger… okay?”

Dean was silent for a moment before he said, “Yeah, okay, Ash. Thanks again.” Then he hung up, but Ash heard the sentiment in his voice. Whatever was dragging Dean back into the scene, Ash would wager a bet Dean didn’t mind one bit.

__

Charlie was pissed.

 _Fuck_ , she was pissed.

She was a far cry from an amateur on _Far Cry 3_ , but damn it all to hell, she might as well have never played a video game before in her life with how badly she was losing.

Face scrunched up, jamming her fingers down on her laptop’s keyboard, she was beyond the point of cussing and was officially growling.

Suddenly, night had fallen on the game, the big cats were out, dude got another gun, and…

“GODDAMNIT!” she yelled, lifting up her computer with every intention of throwing it across the room.

Then she remembered how not only expensive the laptop was, but all she went through to make it truly hers, and she stopped. She slammed it shut, tossed it safely on the couch beside her, then crossed her arms and scowled at the muted _Once Upon a Time_ on her television.

Like hell she was going to buy _Far Cry 5_ without having once again beaten all the other four.

Yes, she was on a binge, but she needed a break.

She groaned, head falling back against her couch. Maybe Gilda was free tonight. She’d be happy to listen to Charlie vent about the game as foreplay.

Her phone vibrating beside her made her jump. Which was a good to go ahead and get that reaction out of the way, because she probably would have jumped anyway when she saw _Dean Winchester_ as the caller.

“ _You fucking liar!_ ” she answered, quickly deciding Dean fucking Winchester calling her out of the blue was a great way to get some stress relief.

“I know – _I know!_ ” Dean replied. “Charlie, I’m sorry. I meant to call.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Charlie snapped.

“Jesus,” Dean swore. “Who pissed on your game controllers?”

“ _Far Cry, that’s who!_ ”

Dean was silent for a moment before he said, obviously cautious, “Replaying all the games before the next one?”

Charlie deflated a little. Dean had fallen into a my-life-is-boring rut for a while now; she knew she was either going to barely hear from him or have him show up at her door with bags. For the last few years, Dean was busier helping Sam pay off his loans than anything else, so, she didn’t actually blame him that he hadn’t flown out for LARPing, or Skyping for general hangouts and show watching, for a while now. She was still a little ticked she hadn’t heard from him in months, but she wasn’t actually angry.

“Duh,” she answered him. “But it’s okay. I’m just happy to hear from you _now_.” She grabbed a pillow from her couch, bringing it to cuddle against her chest as she got comfortable. “So, what’s up, loser? Stick your dick in anything interesting lately?”

“I’m sorry, Char, but this isn’t actually a social call…”

Charlie let that sink in before she growled and threw her pillow across the room. “Have I lost my best friend?!” she exclaimed.

Dean snickered. “Of course not. I just… I need some help.”

That sobered her. “Are you okay? Is Sam? Bobby? Baby?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good. It’s something else, and the thing is… what I’m about to ask you to do isn’t exactly legal. Like, at all.”

“Intrigue,” she hummed. “Speak.”

“Okay, so, have you heard about the Hannah Carrol murder?”

“Nope.”

“Well, a woman named Hannah Carrol was murdered. Sam’s on the team of lawyers trying to put away her killer, but I don’t think the dude did it. Sam is being a stubborn shit, as always, so, I’m…”

“Going behind his back?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Dean!” she scolded.

“I know, _believe me_ , I know. But listen to me, Charlie. If this guy didn’t do it, then the real murderer is still – “

“That’s not your job, Dean,” she tried to reason. “If you think that, you need to tell Sam.”

“I’m going to try, okay? But in the meantime, I need your help doing some digging.”

“Dean…” she sighed. “You know I’d happily break the law for you, but going behind Sam’s back? I don’t like it.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important, Charlie. You know that.”

“Well, what is it about this that’s so special, then?”

“The thing is… So, there was this witness, right? But he has Intermediate Psychosis Amnesia. And I’ve interviewed hi – “ Dean’s voice cut out for a moment – “ew times – hold on.” She heard him huff a small laugh, and said, “Speak of the devil. Hold on, Charlie, let me connect these two calls, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, stretching out the word and frowning, curious but willing to wait.

She heard some clicking on the phone, then Dean, “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” said a super fucking deep voice that must have swum through a hella lot of testosterone to activate that low of an octave.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean went on. The last time she heard Dean sound that gentle was when he was bribing a seven-month-old with actual money to not cry. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Okay,” the man agreed immediately, as though Dean just asked him to pass the salt.

“She’s on the phone with us. She’s a good friend of mine. Her name is Charlie. Say hi, Charlie.”

“Uh, hi,” Charlie greeted at the same time the man, Cas, parroted, “Hi, Charlie.”

Dean chuckled. “No, I was asking Charlie to say hi to you.”

“Hi, Cas,” she tried again. “It’s nice to, uh, meet you, I guess.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you as well,” the man said, sounding on the edge of cheerful. “How do you know Dean?”

“Uh... well, from one of his dad's cases, actually.”

“One of his fake ones?”

“No, Cas,” Dean interjected. “A real case, from when he was a PI.”

“Ah,” Cas said, as though he just understood the answer to a fucking calculus problem or something. “It’s a shame, what happened to him.”

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed, not one for getting left out of a perfectly good potential conversation. “The funeral was nice though.”

There was a very pregnant pause before Cas said, voice so full of sorrow, Charlie’s heart broke a little, “Oh, Dean… I’m so sorry. When’s the service?”

Dean snickered a little. “Yeah, Char, he didn’t exactly remember that part, I guess. It’s okay, Cas. He died years ago.”

Another pause. “I don’t understand,” Cas answered.

“You and me both, buddy,” Charlie said.

Dean chuckled again. “Okay, so, Cas, this is my friend Charlie. Charlie, this is Castiel Novak – “

“I’m his friend,” Cas interrupted – sounding offended, of all things.

“Yes, Cas. Charlie, this is my _friend_ Castiel. He’s also the guy I was telling you about, the one with Intermediate Psychosis Amnesia.”

“You’ve been talking about me?” the dude asked softly.

“Yeah, Cas. Uh… Cas, tell Charlie why you’re calling me.”

“Because I’m not okay.”

Charlie unintentionally made a noise, somewhere between surprise and sympathy. “Aw - Cas, was it? Why aren’t you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he answered simply, flatly.

“Oh, uh…”

Dean grunted. “Exactly. See, Char, something’s going on. We can talk more about that in a minute. Okay?”

“Sure,” Charlie agreed.

“Okay. Hey, Cas? Missouri working tonight?”

“No.”

“Who is?”

Cas sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay, well, how about you call me back in a little bit, and you can tell me then.”

“Sure, Dean.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Cas. I’m going to talk to Charlie now, but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Of course, Dean. Again, I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean. Goodbye… ?“ he trailed off questionably.

“Charlie,” Dean and Charlie answered at the same time.

“Yes. Charlie. Goodbye, Charlie. It was nice to speak with you. I’m glad we’re both friends of Dean.”

“Uh… yeah,” Charlie tried to grin, despite no one being able to see her, though she was starting to understand Dean’s side of things. “Hope to talk to you again soon, Cas!”

“Alright,” Cas simply agreed.

They were all silent for a few moments, then Dean cleared his throat. “It’s time to hang up now, Cas.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll call you later, Dean.”

“Perfect. Talk to you then, Cas.”

There was an audible click, then Dean sighed.

“What the hell was that?” Charlie asked.

“That was Castiel. Sounds like he’s doing good today, though. Look, he’s the only witness to the murder. For the last month or so, he’s been scared at night. I think the real murderer is threatening him somehow. Sam and I both tried to talk to the security there, but there isn’t much they can do. And there’s not much Sam can do to protect him.”

“I see,” Charlie nodded. “And as long as everyone is hunting down the wrong guy, there’s nothing stopping the real killer from hurting Cas.”

“Exactly. I’m going to try to talk to Sam, get him to start looking at things differently, but meanwhile… Will you help me?”

“Well…” Charlie considered. After a few moments, she groaned and pulled her laptop to her. “I don’t like it, but yeah. What’d ya need?”

“Great!” She could hear Dean’s wide grin. “Okay,” Dean continued, abruptly going all business that it made her eyebrows shoot up. “I need you to hack into New Life Psychiatric Hospital here in town. I need blueprints, records of people on staff and security, and to find out how someone could disable the cameras, how someone could break in there undetected. Try to get as much as you can.”

Charlie put her phone on speaker and started typing away, already finding different back pathways to get in. “Okay, you got it. Where do I send this to?”

“W dot Dean at gmail.”

Charlie paused. “Really? You’re asking me to send illegal shit to an email that fucking obvious?”

“Ash suggested it,” Dean said, voice small.

Charlie lifted her hands completely off her laptop. “Excuse me? You did _not_ just say _Ash_.”

“Oh,” Dean snapped, “don’t go whipping it out and grabbing a ruler. I have him working on something else.”

“Dean!” she chastised, a little hurt.

“Come on, Charlie! I’m pressed for time here!”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she yelled, going back to work, this time more fiercely and focused. “You better hope Cas is as pathetic as he sounds.”

“You got no idea…” Dean mumbled.

“Okay, give me one moment…” she hummed, typing away, adjusting so different windows pop up confirming the different information she was pulling and attaching them to an email with a few clicks. She could hear Dean taking a slurp of what she guessed was beer as she worked.

This was fun. She hadn’t done this kind of thing in a while. Maybe she should think about getting back into the scene instead of settling down for a cubicle and W2.

“Got it,” she announced. “Pushing send... now.”

Dean sighed in obvious relief. “You’re awesome, Charlie. Thank you so much.”

“Talk to Sam, Winchester,” Charlie quipped, hanging up on him.

“What he gets,” Charlie mumbled to herself, backing out of New Life’s systems, “using Ash instead of me. Dick.”

__

Jo was sitting on her toilet with the seat down, shaving her legs. She had _Can’t Fight This Feeling_ playing from her stereo in the next room, quite loudly too. And okay, it was on repeat. Fuck, did she love having her own place. She also happened to like that she hadn’t stepped foot in the Roadhouse in over a week.

She liked working for the construction company and loved showing up the men. She liked her studio apartment, liked that she had two guys and one girl chasing her currently and loved that she knew none of them would catch her.

Oh, life was good.

Her phone began vibrating with a call where it sat on the sink. She stretched a little, swiping the answer button and putting it on speaker, not paying any attention to the caller ID.

“Hello,” she cooed, thinking it was Rebecca.

There was a pause, then: “Well, hello,” came the mockingly flirtatious, smooth voice of…

“Dean?!” she shouted, turning so fast to face the phone, she almost fell off the toilet.

“The one and only.”

“Oh, thank _god!_ ” she practically moaned. “Dean, please tell me you’re calling because you’re in a shit ton of trouble. I am so _bored_.”

“Life as a PI suckin’ that much for you?”

“You haven’t heard,” she huffed. “That’s right. Because we haven’t talked to you in fucking forever.”

“Heard what?” Dean said, sounding cautious.

She groaned. “I had a slight pregnancy scare a few months ago. Mom beat me down into killing the business, to find a safer profession for her future grandkids. I work for _construction_ , Dean. _Construction._ ”

“Yikes,” Dean sympathized.

“Yes. So, what do you got, Winchester?”

“How do you feel about a little B&E?”

Jo could feel herself smirk, adrenalin already picking up. Thank fuck for Dean Winchester.

__

Jo and them lived around five hours away, and by the time Jo had pulled up in her truck around noon the next day, Dean had already hatched out their game plan for the week.  He paid off a couple of guys at a printer shop in town to print out a full, large blueprint of New Life, and that was what he was pouring over when Jo honked and hopped out.

“Winchester!” She called as she ducked under the half-closed door of the storage unit.

“Hey, hey, Harvelle!” Dean greeted. Man, it was great to see her. They hugged each other, tight, and he picked her up some, swinging her a little.

“Let me look at ya,” she smiled as she let go, reminding Dean of Ellen some. He cocked out his arms to give her a full view, and she smirked, shaking her head. “Might want to lay off ‘em beers, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tugged at her long, blonde hair that was up in a ponytail. “Bite me, bitch.”

“Anytime,” she winked.

Dean snickered and gestured to his now big wall of clues. “Here’s what we got.”

“Right,” Jo nodded, going into full PI mode. “I did some research last night and looked over some of the shit you sent me,” she started, walking over to the wall. “I agree, something doesn’t feel right. But how are we going to investigate?” She asked, crossing her arms and turning to Dean. “To everyone else, this case is basically wrapped up with only the trial left. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure anyone we interview from law enforcement is going to know you’re Sam’s brother.”

“I know,” Dean rubbed his forehead. “I’m hoping we can get around having to actually talk to law enforcement. I had Charlie get the files from the ME this morning,” he informed her, tossing said files that he printed to her.

“How is that devil gal, anyway?” Jo asked, opening the folder and looking through some pages.

“Right now? A little pissed at me for asking for Ash’s help too.”

Jo snorted. “I thought ‘bout that. She’ll get over it… eventually,” she shrugged, going back to the file.

Dean let her read as he turned back to the blueprints. She soon moved on to looking through everything else on Dean’s desk, and by the time she was as caught up as Dean, she grabbed a beer (without having even been told one would be there, fucking smartass without even trying), and took a seat on the stool.

“So, what are you thinking?” she asked Dean.

He leaned against one of the metal shelf cases holding a rather impressive display of weapons. “Bottom line? I think the actual killer’s still out there and somehow has access to New Life without raising suspicion.”

Jo nodded, clearly agreeing, as she took a sip. Once she swallowed, she said, “We should start looking into everyone who was working that night.”

“Already ahead of you,” Dean said, pushing off the case to go to the desk. He unlocked his computer and pulled up the personnel files he flagged. “That’s everyone who worked that night, along with their contact information. Look who’s currently unavailable.”

Jo frowned and clicked around on the files some until her eyebrows shot up. “Tessa Reap. She hasn’t been to work since the murder.”

“Exactly. I listened to a few interviews she did, but everything was pretty standard. They haven’t questioned her in a couple of months.”

“Is she set to testify for the trial?” Jo asked, setting down her beer and taking over Dean’s Mac.

“Yep.”

“That’s weird,” Jo voiced Dean’s thoughts. “Is her information she left with the police different from in her file?”

“Nope. And yet she’s listed unavailable at New Life. Ash should be sending along information about her soon.”

Jo nodded, pulling out the police report.

Guessing her train of thought, he said, “Security was the first to arrive before police. They closed off the scene, one guard staying there while the others did a sweep. Everyone working that night seems to check out.”

Jo sighed, throwing down the police report. “Well, Dean. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we start making some fake badges.”

“Just so happens I know a guy who owes me a favor. Might take some convincing, though.”

He saw her eyes drop down for a moment to where his gun laid on top of the blueprints.

They smirked at each other.


	9. Memories, Sweetened Through the Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, your gut?” Sam interrupted, standing. “What a great source. And what do you mean you heard the interrogation tape?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Memories from Elvis Presley.

“Don’t you think about it,” Dean heard Jo sneer before he heard a pained and clearly surprised grunt from Frank.

Frank was not easy to find. It took him and Jo the rest of the day to do it, and that was with Dean working with Charlie while Jo worked with Ash - while not letting Charlie know she was secretly working _with_ Ash. Seriously, she had to get over her competition with that guy. Thing was, Frank, Charlie, and Ash were just about evenly matched when it came to hacking and tech things, each with their own skill set. There was no way they were going to be able to find Frank without both Charlie’s and Ash’s help because Frank was paranoid as shit and his special skill set was basically fucking hiding himself.

Currently, however, Dean was on the back deck of Frank’s trailer, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet from the cold weather, with his phone to his ear.

“I heard it again,” Cas said.

“I told you, I’m watching TV. It’s a crime show.”

“Oh yes. You did say that.”

Dean smiled. “You seem to be doing okay, Cas. You’re remembering when you forget, at any rate.”

“Yes,” Cas sighed, though it sounded happy. “Zar thinks it’s you.”

“Zar? Wait… me?”

Cas gave a small laugh. “Zar is short for… Well, it’s short for something. He’s a patient on this unit. And yes. He thinks you’re helpful to my memory. I agree with him, though I’m not sure why.”

Dean felt his lips go down in a smug, shrug-face of sorts. “I’ll be sure to tell Sammy. He’ll be jealous.”

“Sammy?”

“Nevermind,” Dean smiled, shaking his head.

“Is… is he your husband?”

“Gross,” Dean made a face. “ _Brother_ , Cas. Brother.”

“Ah. Got it. Sammy is your brother.”

“Bitch!” he heard Frank call out after another painful grunt.

“You watch very unsavory television, Dean.”

He snorted. “Ah, man, you haven’t even seen my porn collection. Don’t start judging me yet.”

Cas hummed. “BDSM is a perfectly acceptable form of sexual pleasure, Dean.”

Dean was silent for a moment as he took that in. “Let me get this straight… You can’t remember Sammy, but you know BDSM?”

“Sammy?” Cas asked.

Dean laughed, full belly, trying to keep it down so as to not piss off Jo about having a good time while she was currently holding down the fort. “Ah, man, Cas. Don’t ever change.”

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice,” Cas replied, though Dean could hear his smile.

“Anyway,” Dean pushed out through the last of his laugh. “I have to get going. Ruby all set with the schedule?”

“Yes,” Cas said, clearly through clenched teeth. “But I don’t like her.”

Dean shrugged, looking back briefly at the closed door. “She’s not the nicest, but if you follow the schedule and don’t put up a fight, she might be nicer, y’know.”

“I know,” Cas sighed. “She’s just so difficult. I miss Missouri.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, remembering what Cas told him the night before. “She’ll be back tomorrow, though. I know Ruby being new is hard, but once she’s adjusted, Missouri’s regular schedule will start back up,” he lied. He knew through the records Charlie gave him that Missouri was only part-time, and the one who needed adjusting to Ruby being new was Cas. Missouri had a very set schedule, probably for patients like Cas, but Cas was blaming Ruby for why Missouri wasn’t working.

Dean pondered a few times why Cas didn’t miss Tessa. He definitely didn’t seem like the kind of guy to just let an attachment go; the way he talked about Tessa sure pointed to one, but he also knew Cas probably distanced himself from Tessa because of what happened.

That didn’t mean Dean wasn’t looking for Tessa himself, though.

“I know. It’s just frustrating,” Cas whined.

“How about in the meantime you focus on trying to find a way to Ruby’s good side?”

“I don’t think one exists.”

Dean smiled. “Trust me, Cas. If one does, you of all people will find it.”

There was silence for a moment, then Cas said softly, “Thank you, Dean. I will speak to you in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be here,” Dean answered before waiting for Cas to hang up first.

Not that Dean didn’t want to get off the phone. He thought it wiser he got back inside before Jo did some serious damage to Frank. He just wanted to be sure not to hang up before Cas, in case the guy randomly forgot they just said goodbye and was expecting Dean to be on the other line.

That was all.

He made sure his ringer volume was up loud, and after shoving his phone back into his jean’s pocket, he went inside.

Frank was at his workstation, seemingly focused on making their fake ID’s and badges, but Dean knew that look. That beady eye glance every few seconds. He was working, obviously doing his best, but also trying to find a way to probably knock them both out and run.

Which was why Jo had her gun pointed at him, watching him closely.

Frank used to be a great and friendly guy, or from what Dean and John heard from people who knew the old Frank. They met Frank when one of John’s associates connected them. By Frank’s behavior, John didn’t trust him, and they did some digging. Frank was legit, but was… well, Frank. About a year after John died, Frank tried to contact him. Dean still had all John’s old means of communication for reasons just like that, and Bobby (who worked with John some) was more than happy to give Dean some time off to help.

Frank said he owed Dean. And boy, did he ever. Then disappeared without any means to contact him.

Dean never had any reason to hunt him down before now, and he had to say, he wasn’t sorry for the lack of Christmas cards.

“Lookin’ nervous there, Frank,” Dean said as he swaggered into the den.

“There’s a gun to my head. How would you be?” Frank spat.

“Eh,” shrugged Jo and Dean at the same time.

“Both of you. Just like your dads.”

“And damn proud of it,” Jo snarled.

Frank clearly didn’t miss the emotional emphasis and paused in his work. “How did he die again?” he asked, almost innocently.

Jo raised the gun to hit Frank upside the head with its hilt when Dean spoke up, making her freeze. “My dad. They were on a case together. And guess what. Both our dads are dead now when they shouldn’t be. Stop trying to make trouble, asshat.”

Jo rolled her shoulders and pointed the gun at Frank’s head again. “Yeah,” she agreed. “All we want is what we asked for, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

Frank’s shoulders slumped and went back to work.

__

It was almost two in the morning by the time they left, and Dean was willing to bet they both had headaches. The only thing worse than uncooperative Frank was trying-to-be-helpful Frank. They spent the last hour of their visit getting lecture after lecture. Even though it ended with a supposed way to contact him in the future, it was still annoying.

In fact, Frank was so infuriating, the continuous calls from Cas were welcoming. Jo even asked to answer a couple, but to hell with that. The last thing he needed was Cas going back to double checking it was Dean he was calling.

With all the new credentials locked safely in the Impala’s glove box, Dean yawned and made his way to the house Sam and Dean rented. He felt bad Jo had to stay at a motel, but she was more than happy to keep things from Sam as long as Dean kept things from Ellen.

Honestly, out of the two, Dean had the short straw, but it was worth it.

All the lights were off as he tip-toed in. He hung up his jacket and waited for his eyes to adjust some before he quietly made his way to his bedroom. He barely got into the hallway before Sam’s bedroom door was flying open.

Dean froze, several excuses rolling in his mind since he knew just a simple “none of your business” would just make Sam more curious.

“Again, Dean?” Sam asked, clearly tired but hadn’t been asleep. He sounded chastising and a bit judgmental.

Dean didn’t know which thing he was accusing Dean of, so Dean just shrugged and tried to grin.

“Bar hopping two nights in a row is a sign, y’know.”

Ah, that was right. Dean came home after Sam last night and used the excuse of hitting up some bars.

And wait a minute… Dean could bar hop if he wanted to, damnit.

“What’s it to you, Sammy? I can do what I want.”

“Bobby’s going to kill you if you’re late tomorrow. _And_ hungover.”

Dean huffed. “Bite me, Sam. Go back to bed.”

Sam rolled his eyes, pushing past Dean. “I’ll get you water and aspirin.”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed out of guilt. And annoyance. He didn’t need Sam taking care of him, but actually being sober, he was touched by the automatic care.

While he heard the faucet turning on in the kitchen, Dean quickly ducked into his room, grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a tee, and quickly made his way into the bathroom. He turned on the bathroom faucet, knowing Sam would think he was cleaning himself up, then changed. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, noticed he needed to shave in the morning, took a piss, washed his hands, then thinking it had been enough time, turned off the faucet and the light before opening the door.

He found a dark hallway. Once he got back in his room, he flipped on his light to find it empty of any Sam and a tall glass of water and two aspirin on his bedside table. Apparently, Sam decided not to wait up for him. All the better, he thought.

He tossed his dirty clothes in his laundry basket, went ahead and took the pills and drank the water, and hit the sack.

__

He woke up early the next morning to a text from Ash saying all the info Dean asked him to get was waiting in his inbox. The sun was barely up, which meant Sam was still asleep. He texted Jo to ask her to weed through them first and got up to start his day.

He already had breakfast ready by the time he woke Sam up. He thought he’d let him get a little extra sleep before they talked. He also made Sam’s favorite sausage, with a side of fruit even. He made the coffee a little stronger than usual, but that was more for Dean.

Sam ate, quiet like he usually was during mornings. Dean remained quiet, too, just to give Sam the space to wake up. Sam probably thought it was because he was hungover, and Dean could work that angle easily.

Sam went to get ready for the day as Dean cleaned up. He was going to confront him during Sam’s last morning coffee he always had before he left. Not bothering to get dressed, Dean made himself comfortable at the table and waited.

Twenty minutes later, Sam came back in, donned in a suit, and poured himself the cup of coffee, joining Dean at the table with a raised eyebrow. “Not going in?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Not yet,” he tried to brush off. “Listen, Sam… I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Sam frowned, setting his cup down.

“It’s about the Carrol case.”

“What about it?”

“Look,” Dean sighed, shifting a little in his seat. “What if Kyle didn't do it?”

Sam’s face was blank for a moment before he crossed his arms, obviously trying to keep his face passive. “That's the second time you asked that, Dean. What are you getting at?”

Dean had expected that question. “Some things just don’t add up, Sam. Like, how did Kyle get in there undetected? I’m willing to bet he had inside help. And why hasn’t Tessa been back to work since? What if there’s a connect –“

“How do you know if she hasn’t been back to work?” Sam asked.

“Cas,” Dean lied easily, prepared.

“Right. The guy who can’t remember anything knows when Tessa last worked.”

“Cas knows more than you give him credit for,” Dean snapped, making Sam’s eyebrows raise. “That’s not the point,” Dean tried to recover. “Sam, how can you be so sure Kyle did it with so little evidence?”

“You’re not on the case, Dean,” Sam replied, body still tense as he stared Dean down. “And just a few days ago, you were convinced of it too.”

“Sam, just hear me out –“ Dean began.

“No,” Sam snapped. “I don’t have to hear you out on anything.” He sighed and dropped his arms. “I knew it was a mistake to ask for your help. And for the record, _once_. I asked for your help _once._ ”

“Three times, actually.”

“With _one_ thing,” Sam corrected himself. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I didn’t ask for you to go taking over – “

“I’m not taking over!” Dean barked. “I’m just saying, it’s something _you_ could look into.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_?” Dean parroted. “Oh, I don’t know, Sammy. Because it’s your fucking _job_!”

“I’m doing my job!” Sam snipped. “And it’s _my_ job, Dean. Not yours.”

“I think he’s innocent!” Dean’s resolve broke.

Sam looked flabbergasted. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I’m sorry, but I do. I heard the interrogation tape, and my gut says – “

“Oh, your gut?” Sam interrupted, standing. “What a great source. And what do you mean you heard the interrogation tape?”

Dean rose, too, realizing his mistake. He took a breath to calm down a little. “I overheard the tape. The other night. You were watching it when I got up for some water. I can’t help what I overhear, Sam,” Dean added, a little patronizing, while he pointedly ignored the fact that he watched it behind Sam's back earlier that day.

“Oh, so you hear a few snippets and change your tune? Or, let me guess,” Sam paused, crossing his arms again, “you stopped and listened, didn’t you?”

“He didn’t sound so guilty,” Dean tried.

“Yeah. He’s a great actor. I’ve been listening to it for months.”

“And your own gut says nothing?” Dean balked. “Dad taught us to read people as well as evidence.”

Sam scowled. “I am reading people, Dean. I’m reading Kyle, and _my_ gut says he’s guilty. And I don’t just have what Dad taught us, I have _years_ of both education and experience.”

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean threw out his hands. “All I’m saying is to take a different look at the case. Put to _use_ all that fucking education and experience. What if he is innocent? Looking at this from a different perspective could only help.”

“Oh, okay, I see,” Sam mocked a realization, uncrossing his arms and cocking them out. “Just look at all angles. Riiiight. Because no one else for _months_ has done that at all. No, we’re all just half-ass investigators.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, it isn’t?” Sam barked. “You aren’t trying to tell me you think I’m incompetent at my job?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what are you saying, Dean? You know better than I do? That the few _illegal_ cases you worked with Dad made _your_ gut better than _mine_?” Dean could tell Sam was getting worked up and clenched his jaw, preparing for a rant. “I’m working my ass off, Dean! Do you seriously not think I haven’t looked at this case from all angles? Do you really think that I’m that horrible at my job that at this stage in the investigation, I don’t know who’s guilty? You don’t have to stick your nose into everything, Dean. I know what I’m doing. If you want to play detective that badly, you should have taken over Dad’s business.”

“I needed to take care of _you_!” Dean yelled. “Who was going to help with your college, huh? Dad didn’t have that kind of money.”

“And whose fault is that?” Sam yelled back. “Dad shouldn’t have put that on you, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you for it!”

“Oh, so I should have just gone off with Dad? With you constantly complaining about being abandoned?”

“Dad abandoned us, Dean! You didn't!”

“Yeah, right,” Dean sneered. “Like you would be thinking that if I didn’t stay!”

“I would, Dean! God,” he yelled, looking away for a moment. “I’ll never understand the number Dad did on you.”

“Excuse me?” Dean yelled. His voice had an edge to it he hated to use – not just because it made Sam wince, but the deep dip kind of hurt his throat. “Dad didn’t do anything to me.”

“Yes, he did, Dean!. He did to both of us! He was an alcoholic criminal at best!”

Dean felt his nostrils flare. “Don’t you fucking talk about him like that.”

“I’ll talk about him however I fucking please! He was never there for us, Dean. He missed most birthdays, almost all holidays, graduations, awards –“

“He was helping people, Sam! Saving some! He did the _best_ he could! You just hold a grudge because he missed your high school graduation! He missed your Presidential Award. He missed your twenty-first birthday. But what about me, Sam? Huh? I was there!”

The last word seemed to ring and echo loudly throughout not just the kitchen, but the house. Sam's face fell and his shoulders slumped. They stared at each other for a moment before Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I know you were, Dean. You know how much I appreciate that.”

“Yeah,” Dean snapped, “because you sure show it. I’m not trying to take over your case,” Dean... didn't exactly lie, again. He was technically starting his own case. “I just don’t want to see an innocent man go to jail.”

Sam’s head snapped back up, looking angry again. “An innocent man isn’t going to jail, Dean. You just care so much because of Castiel, and your little crush isn’t going to fuck up my investigation!”

With that, Sam turned and marched out. A few moments later the front door slammed so hard, Dean heard some things shake throughout the house.

Dean closed his eyes, sitting down slowly and letting out a long breath. Sam was good at his job, Dean knew that. He was one of the best.

Dean dropped his head into his hands. Maybe he was letting his concern for Cas get the best of him. Some things seemed off, but he and Jo could find the answers to that. He was damn sure someone was threatening Cas, so maybe he should focus on that instead of the case as a whole.

Maybe he should show Sam some faith.

__

_He was fairly sure he knew where he was. He recognized the man sleeping against the dumpster. He couldn’t place his name, but he knew that rug the man used as a blanket. It was familiar._

_He turned to look back at the street, and he shivered. He pulled his trench coat closer to him, looking around. There were plenty of storefronts, and he felt like they were the reason he was there._

_His stomach gave a very uncomfortable and almost painful growl. That was right. He needed food. He quickly checked his pockets, but he didn’t find any money. He felt disappointed and also like he shouldn’t have assumed he had any._

_He looked back up and frowned. He wasn’t where he thought he was. Something tickled his nose and he looked up. It was snowing. But… it wasn’t snowing a minute ago._

_He turned around, but the man sleeping wasn’t there. Nor was the dumpster. There was a woman dressed like a waitress smoking a cigarette._

_He looked back around. It was cold. So, so cold. He pulled his trench coat tighter around him, trying to remember where he was. He could see a sign pointing toward a 79 South. There were plenty of gas stations, diners, and a couple of hotels around._

_What was he doing? It was something important, he knew that._

_His stomach growled, and he remembered. Food. He needed food. He checked his pockets, but there was no money._

_Didn’t he just do this?_

_No. It wasn’t snowing then. He relaxed a little with the knowledge that he found food in the past and pulled his trench coat tight around him again, looking around._

_Maybe he could find food in one of the diners’ dumpsters. Something discarded._

_“Hey, kid. You okay?” came a deep voice._

_He turned to find a man. The man was a little taller than he, older from what he thought he knew. He couldn’t remember his age, which made him frown, but he did remember he had a young reflection. The man hadn’t shaved in a while, and he was looking at him curiously. He was in a leather jacket and was clenching a dark bottle of Jim Beam in one hand._

_He flicked his eyes around again, wondering if he should tell the man he was hungry, painfully so, which made him not okay, when the man spoke again. “What’s your name, kid?”_

_Name? He didn’t know his name. But he did just see a name, didn’t he? He looked around again, trying to find it when the word Jim… Jim something flashed through his mind. Jim… something. What went with a Jim? Well, there was... “Jimmy,” he answered. He knew it was a lie, but as he looked at the man, he had a desire to answer him in some way._

_The man looked down at his bottle then back up at him. “Jimmy…. Right.”_

_He nodded at the man, giving him a small smile. The man accepted his name, which was good. He hoped he remembered to tell his friend. Marv._ _Oh, that’s right, he was sleeping. He turned to look back at Marv sleeping against the dumpster, only to find a woman standing outside an exit door, smoking a cigarette._

_But that wasn’t right. He was by Marv._

_“You got a home?” came a voice, and he turned back around to find a familiar face. That’s right, this man was Jimmy. He frowned. No… No, this was the man he told his own name was Jimmy. “Any place to go?” the man continued. He looked him up and down and mumbled, “Jesus, you’re almost my son’s age.”_

_This was a father. He was a dad. Dads were supposed to be good. This man must be a good man._

_The man looked him in the eye again. “Well?”_

_He was waiting for something, a reply. What did the man ask?_

_“What?”_

_“You got anywhere to go, kid?” the man asked._

_“I… don’t know,” he admitted. He was supposed to be by Marv. But Marv was a woman now._

_As he stared at the man, he found it fascinating to watch his face. It was almost like emotions and thoughts were bouncing around underneath the skin. He squinted and tilted his head for a better look._

_Finally, the man’s face seemed to settle. He switched his alcohol to the other hand then held the newly free hand out to him. “Nice to meet you, Jimmy,” the man said, lips quirking in what almost was a smile._

_He took the man’s hand in both of his. He loved meeting new people. He loved having other people know he existed. He smiled at the man, shaking his hand tightly between his._

_“I’m John Winchester," the man said. "Let me buy you a burger.”_


	10. Just a Passing Breeze Filled with Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried to shrug, though it was extremely prohibited by Cas’ grip, and Tony laughed, shaking his head. “Queers,” he said. Then his eyes went wide. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Days of Wine and Roses by Ella Fitzgerald

“I got nothin’,” Jo announced as Dean walked into the storage unit. She was sitting on the desk, balancing a pencil on her nose.

Dean huffed, pulling the door down almost all the way. “What a surprise with how hard you’re working.”

His tone was rougher than he meant it to be, which Jo noticed. She let the pencil roll off her nose to catch in her hands and frowned at him. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

Dean shook his head to dismiss her and made his way over, “Nothing, don’t worry about it. So, you really got nothing?”

She made an annoyed sound as he shooed her off the desk and sat on the stool. She leaned against the wall saying, “Not really. Everything with Tessa was a little suspicious but seemed to check out. In her resignation note, she said she just couldn’t do it anymore, watching patients suffer. It’s still off, though. I figured since it’s basically Ash’s day job to expose anything involving authority, I asked him to comb through the entire investigation on the legal side.”

“That’s good thinking,” Dean said, glad Jo did that instead of having to do it himself. He was betraying Sam enough already. “I’ve been thinking about Cas’ protection. You think you can call Charlie, ask her to hack into all the security whatevers at New Life. There’s no film during the murder, but we might be able to catch whoever is threatening Cas. As well as keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, pulled out her phone, and stepped away to make the call. Meanwhile, Dean pulled Jo’s laptop closer and started clicking on the files Ash sent.

He looked at Rufus Turner first. A photo of a grumpy looking guy popped up, and Dean frowned. Whoa, that dude looked familiar. He quickly clicked through the info of the guy. He used to be a PI (which might have explained his familiarity) and apparently retired a few years ago due to an injury. Looked like he hadn’t been able to hold down jobs for too long. He had already left New Life.

Which made that two employees to quit since the murder. Dean marked that in his mind as something to remember, but it also made sense that there would be a turnover after what happened.

“Okay, let me look at the blueprints,” he heard Jo sigh as she moved across the room to where the blueprints laid spread out over boxes.

He opened Kyle’s file next. Other than recent criminal charges, he seemed like a regular joe. Definitely had some commitment issues, though. Hannah was his fourth wife. None of the others ended up dead, but at 37, that was some track record. He looked into the summaries of each wife, and it seemed like all four were loaded. Gold digger of sorts, then.

He opened up Hannah’s file and immediately checked her life insurance policy. Honestly, it wasn’t much. 100,000K was a pretty penny, but not worth the trouble Kyle would have had to go through. Besides, they were already divorced. Hannah’s family would get the money, not Kyle. If he killed her for it, then he would have had to marry her again.

Frustrated, he closed Kyle’s file and looked more closely at Hannah’s.

“Alright, alright!” he heard Jo yell, clearly trying to be louder than the loud voice of Charlie coming through the phone. He turned to smirk at her as Jo went on, “I’m sorry I mentioned him! You’re right, we don’t need Ash, okay?”

Dean snorted and shook his head. Turning back to the computer, he started to read.

If Kyle didn’t do it, then there was a motive out there no one was looking for. Why kill Hannah? Her family was rich, yes, so none of them really benefited from her death. Hannah seemed like she was nice enough. She was a school teacher, active in her church and community. Her social media accounts were focused on pictures of food, funny videos of cats, and forwarding prayer requests. She looked happy in her profile picture, and she seemed like a kind, regular woman.

Then Dean looked into all her medical history and doctors’ notes, all very confidential that probably didn’t take Ash long to find.

Hannah was diagnosed as a teenager. She and her family spent quite a few years trying different medication, therapy, the works. She was very well cared for. By the time she was twenty, they had found a perfect balance for Hannah, and she was able to go to college, get her degree, start a career. It looked like there were only three times her medication had to be adjusted in some way before New Life, and they all coordinated with an event in her life, like her mother dying, her moving away from her hometown, and when her brother was in a car accident and had to stay with her for a while.

Wow, she had a great therapist, Dean thought, as he looked through the councilor’s notes.

So, why, after nineteen years of living a full-filling, well-balanced life, did her medication stop working?

Dean smiled when he saw a note from Ash: _Know what you’re thinking and already looked into it. If for some reason she suddenly stopped taking the meds, she would have had extreme health probs, yo. Like hospitalized and shit. In order to reach her level of crazy, she would’ve needed to be weaned off of it like a baby with a bottle. Probably replaced with something else to encourage the crazy._

Dean sat back and crossed his arms. Wasn’t that wonderful? Another circumstantial and hypothetical nail in Kyle’s coffin. By the look of Hannah’s life, she would have no reason to play with her meds herself. If not her, if not Kyle, then who?

“I think I could pull that off. Thanks, Charlie. I’ll let you know,” Dean heard Jo say, sounding a little dejected as she got off the phone, but right after, she squealed, making Dean turn around.

“What the hell?”

“I get to go undercover; I get to go undercover!” she sang as she bounced over to Dean. “Charlie was able to hack into their systems, but there’s a blockage from getting into the security’s cluster.”

“Shit,” Dean groaned. “Maybe Ash –“

“If you want to die a slow death, Winchester,” Jo smirked. “And he wouldn’t be able to either. The source of the blockage is physical, on the property. Most likely to allow for one specific remote access and nothing else.”

“The killer’s access.”

“That’s what we think. It would take some advanced skill on his end. If we get the info Charlie needs,” she wagged a notepad at him that she had in hand, “not only could we get in undetected, but she might be able to identify who set it up. Apparently, every hacker has their own style and signature.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “She said that yesterday when we were trying to find Frank.”

“So!” Jo slapped the notepad down and clapped her hands. “I’ll go in, flash my new fancy badges, get behind one of security’s computers, and done. And, obviously, since everyone there knows you…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re not going solo. And I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. If you go flashing the wrong badge –“

“I know; I know,” she waved him off. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” She pulled over a box of files and sat on it, grabbing her notepad, and started looking through whatever was in there. “We’ll come up with a plan.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, going back to the computer. He jotted down a few notes of his own then opened Tessa’s file.

There was really not much to her. Early forties, worked in healthcare all her life, spent over a decade at New Life. Her letter of resignation was definitely a sad one to read. She wrote that very few people in that ward got better, so, Tessa was inspired and encouraged by how well Hannah healed and got better. She was saddened when Hannah had to come back, and her murder was the last straw. She apologized for her abrupt departure but asked to no longer be contacted.

Yes, so sad, but to Dean, it sounded like a kiss-off as well. A it's-not-you-it's-me along with a never-call-me-again. Dean opened the personnel files Charlie had gotten for them, and Tessa was the only ex-employee that had a specific: UNAVAILABLE. Dean could admit his ignorance about those kinds of jobs, but even to him, that seemed extreme.

That, and apparently, she was not in town anymore. Her credit and debit cards currently had her circling around in California, and not the fun places like LA either. She wasn’t exactly violating any laws, but it was definitely suspicious that she hadn’t stayed in town for the trial.

He closed those files, then peeked over to Jo. She was tapping away on her phone, not giving him any attention.

Without further ado, Dean opened the file he was most interested in reading.

Castiel James Novak. Born on March 7th, 1988.

Born to a Robin and Charles Novak, he was the youngest of three with an older brother Gabriel and older sister Anna. It looked like Cas had a normal, even good, childhood. He was in first grade when he disappeared, but it seemed like he already made a lot of friends. He did well in school, the Novaks were involved with their community, simple, apple-pie life.

Then, on April 16, 1994, a police report was filed. There were newspaper articles, news videos, flyers, prayer circles, vigils, then finally a year later, a memorial. A year after that was when Amber Alerts became a thing; one was put out in Cas’ name, though it didn’t look like anyone thought it would help. It wasn’t too long afterward the Novaks got a divorce, then five years after Cas went missing, Robin killed herself.

In 2010, suddenly Cas was back. There were police reports filled out, hospital stays, and a news report about the return of the cute six-year-old, now a homeless twenty-two-year-old. Soon after, he was admitted to New Life, and his father died a year later from a heart attack.

The most heartbreaking for Dean was Cas’ medical records. He was doing so well before the murder; there were even discussions about Cas moving in with Gabe. He had a slew of medical problems to work through and heal in the beginning before they could start work on his IPA, but he did. He was succeeding. Cas had worked so hard.

Dean slammed the laptop shut and dropped his head in his hands.

“If you’re about to throw a temper tantrum, do it outside, will ya?”

Dean grunted, took a calming breath, and looked over at Jo, whose voice sounded bored but her face looked concerned. “So, what’s the plan?”

Jo smiled and waved one of the badges Frank made the night before. “Reporter. You go visit your little friend while I conduct an interview about the importance of security. You told me Cas likes to try to go home with you, right?”

Dean nodded.

“You cause a distraction that way so I can get access to the computers. With all the pressure to protect Cas, I bet the whole security team would chase after you guys.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “How long would you need?”

Jo checked her phone. “Charlie says five minutes. She’ll walk me through it.”

Dean sighed and leaned back. He didn’t like the idea of using Cas. He also didn’t like going behind Sam’s back, lying to Ellen if she called, and putting Jo potentially in danger. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let’s do this.”

__

They changed the license on Jo’s truck to keep off any suspicion and took their separate vehicles to New Life. As Meg signed Dean in, he watched Jo flash her badge, bat her eyes, and flip her hair, flirting with the front desk.

Dean repressed a smirk.

“This way,” Meg waved and led him up the elevators and to the rec room. “Enjoy your date,” she mocked, winking at him and slapping his ass.

Dean watched her go. “Bitch,” he said under his breath. He looked around the room and found Cas sitting at a table near the back, playing cards with a blonde man wearing a v-neck and a young Korean boy. He took a breath, thinking quickly how to do this. Jo told him she could ‘interview’ Tony for at least twenty minutes, and Dean hoped that was enough time to visit and make this seem casual.

“Hey, Cas,” he said as he strolled up.

Cas looked over and smiled widely at him. “Dean,” he said as he set his cards down and stood up. He enveloped Dean in a tight hug.

Okay... this was a thing they did now. Got it.

“Was I expecting you?” Cas asked.

“Nah,” Dean answered, hugging him back slightly. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

“Good,” Cas let go, blue, innocent eyes shining. “I like surprises.”

“Which is fortunate. With your memory, almost everything’s a surprise,” came a British voice. Both Dean and Cas looked over to find the blonde man staring down at his cards.

Cas chuckled. “Dean, meet Zar,” he gestured to the blonde, “and Kevin,” he gestured to the Korean boy.

“Hi,” Dean waved at them. “I’m Dean.”

“Oh, trust me, we know,” Zar rolled his eyes. “Join us, Dean. From what Cassy says, you lead an interesting life.”

Dean sat next to Cas, grinning at him. “Yeah… You shouldn’t believe everything he says.”

“Yes, I apologize, Dean,” Cas said, looking shy. “I do try.”

“I know,” Dean said softly, patting Cas on the thigh. “So,” he turned back to Zar and Kevin, “what has he said about me?”

“What hasn’t he said,” Kevin smiled at him. “Is it true you went to law school but dropped out because of your passion for cars?”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “No. My brother is the one who went to law school. I dropped out of high school, and I’m a mechanic now.”

“Brother, eh?” Zar said. “He hasn’t mentioned a brother.”

Dean smirked at Cas, who was watching them with a pleasant expression on his face. He didn’t too much look like he was listening. “He never remembers Sam. Braggin' rights at home for me, though.”

“Indeed,” Zar said, then slowly put down his cards. “Tell me, Dean. What exactly are your intentions towards our resident Dory?”

Dean’s eyebrows quirked. “What’s it to you?”

“Zar,” Cas cut in as Zar opened his mouth. “Dean is _my_ friend.” He sounded more like he was correcting Zar, most likely because of the Dory comment.

“Yes,” Zar sneered at Dean. “But to what end?”

“Give it a rest, Zar,” Kevin said, tossing his cards down as well. “Sorry,” he apologized, turning to Dean. “After Hannah, they’re all a little protective of each other.”

“I get that,” Dean nodded. He looked back at Zar and said, “My only intention is to be his friend.” And use him as a distraction as he and Jo illegally hack into the building's security.

“See?” Cas said. “Dean is a very good man.”

“Damn straight,” Dean winked at Cas, who, to Dean’s surprise, seemed to become a little bashful.

“We’ll see,” Zar said, picking up his cards. “Would you like to join us in a game of Go Fish?” he asked Dean, a challenging glare in his eyes. Dean felt like this was some kind of test.

“Sure,” he said, then looking between Kevin and Cas, “if that’s alright with you guys.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said, placing a warm hand on his knee. “You’re always welcomed.”

Dean stomped down the warm feeling he got that went with that warm hand, and focused on Zar reshuffling and dealing the deck, conversation starting immediately.

Kevin apparently had a major breakdown in college and was staying at New Life temporarily. Normally, someone like him would just stay a week at the short-term unit, but he had another breakdown at the idea of leaving and returning back to real life. He had been at New Life just a few weeks and already showed giant signs of progress.

Dean asked if Kevin’s case was common there, and both Cas and Zar agreed about half the residents eventually were able to leave. Dean clenched his jaw, thinking of Tessa’s letter of resignation and that little bit about so few patients getting better. Has no one looked into that excuse? Dean had just always assumed long-term care units were a lifetime deal, and maybe he wasn't the only one.

Zar, on the other hand, apparently had a split-personality, that just so happened to show up for the first time when he was arrested as a notorious jewel thief. His other personality was named Crowley, who was severely delusional and believed himself to be the King of Hell. Zar was so enthralled in telling Dean about this other personality, that when Dean asked who Zar used for inspiration, Zar immediately answered, “Oh, some asshole I knew when I was cracking safes back in Bos-…” He cut himself off and glared at Dean, while Cas looked confused and Dean and Kevin laughed.

“Dean,” Cas set a hand on Dean’s knee again, “Crowley was not inspired. He is the product of Zar’s illness.”

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, smirking at Zar. “He even speaks deeper than him.”

Zar, who sighed and rolled his eyes, leaned back. “Yes. It’s quite tiring on the throat.”

Kevin and Dean laughed again.

The best part of the game, only because it was cute, was Cas trying to play. He did pretty well, but it was always obvious when he was close to making a book because he kept forgetting he already asked for the card he needed. It got worse as the game went on, to the point where Dean wanted to take pity on him.

Then, the cuteness turned into _you-son-of-a-bitch_ when the tides turned and suddenly Cas was making book after book. Kevin ended up winning, but Cas came in second.

“What the hell, man?” Dean asked.

Zar and Kevin snickered. Kevin answered, “Cas is the one to beat in Go Fish. By the time half the cards are played, it’s easier for Cas to remember what’s left, but he doesn’t stop acting like he can’t remember.”

Cas was smirking, too, smugly gathering up the cards.

“Cas, you sly son of a bitch,” Dean laughed.

“Having a poor memory can sometimes be useful,” Cas stated.

“I can see that, you shit. Good thing there wasn’t money at stake.”

The others laughed, and while they started discussing another round, Dean checked his phone.

It had been over twenty minutes, and he had a text from Jo two minutes ago, telling him to hurry up before she was bored to tears.

“Actually,” Dean sighed, putting his phone back. “I need to head out. I took an early lunch to come here,” he lied, smiling at Cas and immediately feeling like a piece of shit for using him.

“That’s alright,” Cas smiled. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Kevin shook his hand as Dean stood.

Dean held his hand out to Zar as well, who didn't take it and just quirked a sarcastic brow. “Yes, go save those cars.”

Dean glared and said, “Tell Crowley I said hi.”

Zar rolled his eyes, and Cas and Dean made their way out.

As the waited for the elevator, Dean began to wonder if Cas would even want to leave with him this time. He did say, ‘I’ll walk you out’, not, ‘Yes, we have to go.’

“How are you doing, Cas?” he asked.

Cas’ eyes twinkled. “Very well. I always enjoy your visits, you know that. And your calls.”

“Yeah,” Dean tried to smile and failed miserably. Cas was a bit lucid. He was showing no signs of wanting to leave. Dean thought of something that could push that, and his stomach twisted. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shut his eyes. Oh, god, he hated himself.

“Dean? Are you alright?” Cas asked, a warm hand gently rubbing Dean’s lower back.

Fuck, he was going to hell. “Yeah,” Dean cleared his throat. “Just worried about tonight.”

He felt Cas freeze. “Tonight?”

“For you,” Dean said, looking toward the elevator’s doors. “I know how the nights scare you.”

“I… I have no reason to be scared. The nighttime security guards are very good.” Cas’ voice was tight.

Dean felt sick. He threw an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him close. Cas responded by wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. “I know. You’re safe, Cas. You know that, right?” He turned his head to look at Cas, who looked somewhere between worried and anxious. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Cas nodded, slowly, then as the doors opened, Cas said softly, “If I’m causing you concern…”

Dean led Cas into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. Then he turned to face Cas, both hands on his shoulders. “No, Cas. You aren’t causing me anything.”

Cas nodded, looking intensely at Dean.

“You’re safe. I promise you, Cas, I am going to keep you safe. I’m… doing everything I possibly can.”

Cas nodded again.

“I love your phone calls. Please, don’t stop calling.”

Cas seemed to relax a little. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Dean sighed. “I’m sure.” Dean didn’t know what else to say. God, he felt so guilty. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

The doors opened, and it took a moment for Dean to let him go. Then, cashing in a first-class ticket straight to hell, he said, “Let’s go.”

He was met with the widest smile he had seen Cas give him yet. He grabbed Dean’s hand and began to lead him toward the doors. Dean purposely slowed their walk, knowing the nurses and security were watching. He immediately added that to the list of things to try to help with. Visitors needed to _sign out_ , for fuck’s sake!

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cas asked, meeting Dean’s slow stroll.

Dean squeezed his hand and said, “Yeah. Yeah, but thank you.”

“Is… is this about your father?”

Dean shook his head, looking at Cas and ignoring everything around them. “No, Cas.”

“Are you sure? I…” Cas swallowed and looked away for a moment. He looked back and said softly, “I heard he died, Dean.”

“No, Cas,” Dean tried to give Cas a small smile. Oh, who was he kidding? Cas was seeing right through his feigned casualness. So, he thought he might as well open up a little, get Cas properly fixated on something else. “I had a fight with my brother this morning.”

“Oh?” Cas asked. They were still walking slowly across the lobby, hand-in-hand, and Dean tried not to pay attention to security or the nurses. He needed this to look like an accident on his part, so engrossed in their conversation, he simply didn’t realize what they were doing. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yeah, his name’s Sam. He feels like I don’t think he’s a good enough lawyer, I guess,” Dean shrugged, eyes back to the floor. “I think he’s making a mistake. All his life, I’ve tried to look out for him. A friend of mine says that I became a kind of parental figure or whatever. Maybe that’s why he always hates it when I try to… I don’t know. Help. He sees it as me butting in.”

They abruptly stopped just a few feet from the doors, by Cas pulling on his hand. Dean looked up, and Cas looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. If you play both parental and sibling roles, then this…”

After Dean realized what the pause was, Dean supplied, “Sam.”

“Yes.” Cas closed his eyes and nodded like he was seriously trying to commit it to memory. He looked back at Dean, a little bewildered then his eyes went back to sharp. “You playing both roles was probably confusing for him. Sometimes he may be fighting against the father figure; sometimes he may be fighting against the brother. How old is he?”

“Twenty-eight,” Dean answered, frowning at this spit of wisdom. “Year younger than you.”

Cas seemed surprised. “Interesting. That would suggest this man also feels threatened.”

“What?” Dean balked.

“It makes sense,” Cas hummed, tapping his thumb a little on the back of Dean’s hand, nodding to himself. “There’s an area in his life that he has separate from this parent/sibling figure. To the father figure, he wants to do him proud. To the sibling figure, he wants to one-up him.”

Dean gaped at Cas. “How… the fuck?”

Cas smiled at Dean. “I’ve spent years living in a place of constant therapy.”

“Goddamn,” Dean laughed.

“Let’s go. I feel like we could explore this further,” Cas said as he started leading Dean out the doors, back straight and full of confidence. Dean almost objected until he remembered what the endgame was. So, he let Cas lead them through the automatic doors. “This… man. Whoever he is. He feels obligated to this person like he doesn’t any other, and yet, because of that, at his age, he probably feels an equal desire to be totally independent of the person. He probably doesn’t even realize _why_ he is resisting… whatever it is that he’s doin –“

“Stop!” yelled a voice.

Dean jumped a little, even though he had been expecting to be stopped. He was completely focused on Cas – and how the fuck did he turn into fucking Frasier Crane? They both turned to find six security guards and three nurses chasing them. They made it halfway across the parking lot, apparently. Cas must have been leading them pretty quickly.

“Dean,” Cas hissed, hiding behind Dean and gripping tightly at his shirt.

Dean threw his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! We’re sorry! _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t even realize we were outside!! Just everyone, calm down!”

Dean felt a small feeling of accomplishment to see Tony among the guards jogging to them. That was quickly replaced with absolute shame as Cas started tugging on his shirt and hissing in his ear, “We _need_ to leave, Dean! Quickly. We have to go!”

Dean kept them where they were, focused on the crowd in front of them. “I am _so_ sorry! I didn’t mean –“

“Just stay where you are!” one guard yelled as they all encircled them.

“Calm down!” yelled Meg. All the guards had their hands on their guns, and Meg was jumping in front of Dean and Cas. “Please,” she snapped, sounding anything but begging.

“You were the one who raised the alarm!” Tony snapped.

“No,” Meg growled. “I was the one who said someone needed to stop them. I would have done it if I wasn’t on the phone!” She heaved a clearly extremely annoyed sigh. “Dean wasn’t stealing our angel. They were having a moment.” Then Meg looked over her shoulder and smirked at Dean. “Our little Dean here just couldn’t take his eyes off him.”

Dean felt the back of his neck heat up, but he was quickly distracted by Cas pressing his body against Dean’s back and whispering in his ear, “We need to leave, Dean.”

Dean turned his head some to direct his voice to Cas. “We can’t, Cas. I’m… Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Dean, please, we have to leave.”

Dean felt his chest tighten. “We can’t, Cas.”

“It’s okay, Clarence,” came Meg’s voice beside them. Dean hadn’t seen Meg’s face that soft, let alone her voice. He was beginning to think she had no bedside manner whatsoever. She lifted a hand and put it on Cas’ shoulder. “We just need to get you inside.”

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head. “Dean and I must leave.”

Both Meg and Dean sighed. Meg started talking to Cas, and Dean looked around. The other nurses were hanging back, and a few guards looked like they wanted to go back inside. Tony was rubbing his face with his hands. Dean was sure to catch his eye. When he did, Dean let all his genuine guilt bubble up on his face. He mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”

Tony’s face softened. He looked at Dean and the current Cas-octopus attached to his back. He smiled a little, crossed his arms, then said, a little loud to be heard over Meg’s and Cas’ argument, “Samuel didn’t send you that day, did he?”

Okay, if Dean’s neck was heated before…

He tried to shrug, though it was extremely prohibited by Cas’ grip, and Tony laughed, shaking his head. “Queers,” he said. Then his eyes went wide. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

A couple of guards laughed, and Dean hung his head.

“Please,” he heard Meg say. “Just let me take you to your room, give you one of those anxiety pills.”

Dean felt sick again. He read about those in Cas’ file. They were recently prescribed. Dean turned, gently making Cas let go, and faced him. “Cas…” he started. Cas grabbed his hands, holding them against his chest. At the same time, Dean felt a vibration of his phone against his leg. Thank you, Android, for allowing different kinds of vibrations for different contacts. The specific one against his thigh told him Jo was done. “Cas, you’re safe. I’m… Fuck, I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t _want_ to lead you outside and trigger something.” He lowered his voice, “I _will_ keep you safe, Cas.”

He saw Cas relax a little. “You always have, Dean.”

“Will you come back inside with me?” Dean asked, not knowing what  _that_ was supposed to mean, but with Cas, he took most things with a grain of salt.

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean started leading Cas back to the building, the guards surrounding them, Meg muttering under her breath, and as Dean looked back, he saw Jo getting into her truck.

He heard a couple of the guards whisper ‘fags’, but Meg was on them in a heartbeat, telling the pricks off. Tony and few others held up their hands in a clear _I-ain’t-getting-involved_ gesture, but Dean just led Cas to the elevators, ignoring them all

Once the doors were closed, and it was just the two of them, Dean asked, “Where do you want to go, Cas? Back to the rec room?” he hovered over the floor 3 button. “To your room?” he moved down to the floor 2 button.

Cas took a deep breath and said, “Do you know where my friends are?”

“Kevin and Zar are in the rec room,” Dean answered.

“Then there.”

“Okay.”

Cas stepped closer to Dean, and Dean couldn’t help it. He wrapped his arm around Cas’ shoulders again. “I’m so, so sorry, Cas.”.

They spent a long moment just staring at each other, and when the doors opened, it made both of them jump. Dean awkwardly led Cas back to the rec room. He stopped him outside the door, said goodbye with another hug because, yep, that was what they did now, and after he watched Cas go in, made his way back to the elevators.

Once inside, he checked his phone.

The text from Jo said: _No go. Not all the guards left. One of them almost caught me. We’ll have to find another way._

Dean swore loudly and banged his head against the metal doors.

All of that… for nothing.

__

_He stood there, smelling in the clean air. He was in a bathroom and was clean. Clean. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a shower; although, he could admit that wasn’t uncommon. But, he felt good._

_The man gave him clothes to wear. Something called ‘sweats’ and a black t-shirt with a rooster on it. They were comfortable, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the smell. He was clean, but he didn’t smell like himself._

_He opened the door only to find a motel room. The man was sitting at a table that was covered in newspapers, looking over them._

_He stepped out into the room. There were two beds, a corner where clothes were thrown, and by the TV on the dresser were several unframed pictures propped up like a display. He walked towards them, excited to see the memories frozen in time when one of them caught his eye._

_The picture was a young man with dark blonde hair. He was sitting on steps, looking up at the camera that must have taken the picture. It was in color. The young man was wearing light jeans and a white t-shirt, but it was his eyes that were captivating. They were bright and green, sure, but there was emotion behind it. Several. Surprise, he could see clearly. Humor, also. But there was also admiration. Beyond all the emotions in his eyes was simple trust._

_“That’s one of my boys,” said a deep voice behind him, making him jump. He didn’t even realize when he picked up the picture, but he almost dropped it then. He looked behind him to see the kind man, then back at the picture the man was staring at. “Name’s Dean. I took that last year on his birthday. This,” he saw the man in the corner of his eye reach around him and pick up another picture, “is Sam. You might be around his age. He’s doing so well in school, wants to go to_ Stanford _…”_

_But he stopped listening. Son. This was the man’s son. The kind, generous man. The son’s eyes were so full of positive emotions. So much trust. So much admiration. This man took the picture. These emotions were for this man._

_“Anyway,” he was brought out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. The man started guiding him to the table. There were plastic plates that he didn’t remember being there, above the papers. “Dinner.”_

_He sat down as the man took the seat across from him. The man started eating, but he went back to looking at the picture still in his hands._

_Open. This young man was open. His eyes… The rest of his face had surprise, but not his eyes._

_Fingers appeared in his vision, and he looked up as the man took the picture away from him. “Did you hear what I just said?” the man asked, setting the picture aside._

_He shook his head. He was still focused on green eyes._

_“I’m a Private Investigator,” the man said. “I can help you. I have resources. I can help find a place for you, or…” the man wiped his hands on his jeans, and he noticed the man’s food was gone. “I can help you find some family, y’know? Someone to help with…” he gestured at him, “whatever’s going on with you.”_

_Family._

_He picked back up the picture, being gentle around the edges. This young man was this man’s son. His family._

_Family._

_He had a distant, vague, barely there image of a man with a beard putting a band-aid on his knee – much, much smaller knee. He was smaller. He was sitting on some counter._

_He blinked a couple of times to focus, and he caught green eyes. That’s right. Family of the man who offered help. The green eyes were full of so much. There was trust there._

_Marv told him not to tell anyone he couldn’t remember things. Not to trust anyone._

_But this green-eyed son trusted…_

_He looked up to find the man who offered him food and a shower and clothes. Green eyes trusted him. Marv was gone._

_He looked once more at the young man, staring up at him, then back up to curious and impatient dark eyes of the man._

_“Can… can you find out who I am?” he asked. He felt ridiculous. This man had a family to get to. He hadn’t been able to find out who he was for years. How could this man do it?_

_The man’s face hardened as he looked over him. Then his eyes dropped to the picture in his hands, and he could see the man’s face smooth out._

_The man looked back at him, something sharp in his eyes. “Yeah, kid. Yeah... This explains why you’re so weird…” The man sighed and scratched the top of his head. “Let’s see what I can do.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 2 2018 - Edited  
> 4 2 2018 - This has been the last update for a while, but I'm back on it. Subscribe if you want notification of my updates.


	11. Memories Can Melt Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spun around to find an average looking man with a hard expression rounding the corner that led to the control room – and to Dean’s panic, there, with her arm in his grasp, was Jo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Memories by Roy Orbison
> 
> I'M BACK.
> 
> I had to step away from this because of personal things then life got in the way. I want to sincerely apologize to you guys who followed closely and commented all the time and everything. I'm so sorry.
> 
> After I post this, I'mma go back and reply to the comments from the last chapter. I've also gone through this whole thing and edited what I could - but there will always be mistakes. 
> 
> It was continued comments that gave me the confidence to continue this. I know I've been gone a while, but I hope you guys will still read.
> 
> **Poster added here and a different one at beginning of chap 1.

 

_“First things first, you’re gonna learn to drive,” John said as he opened the trunk to his car._

_“I know how to drive,” he said, straightening his back. “I’ve known since I was - “_

_“Seventeen, I know, you told me,” John threw their duffle bags into the trunk and checked his gun that he always kept in a shoulder holster under his leather jacket. He was always checking his gun. He thought John said it was to make sure it was safe. Or, on safe. … It had to do with safety._

_“No, offense,” John said, getting his attention again as John tucked his gun away, “but with you, you remembering you know how to do something isn’t the same as remembering how to do it.”_

_He huffed and crossed his arms._

_John started walking around to the driver’s side, so he made his way to the passenger side. This was familiar. Before he could open the door, though, John banged on the roof of the car, getting his attention. When he looked up, John rested his forearms on the roof, clasping his hands together. “I’m gonna take you to 340. It’s Sunday, not a lot of traffic, we can go as slow or as fast as we want. It’s a straight road, too, and on-coming traffic is separate. We can start there.”_

_He nodded. He tried to digest what John just said, but he frowned. “Why? What are we starting?”_

_John hung his head, obviously annoyed. He looked back up after a moment and said, “I’m going to teach you how to drive. If you’re going to continue to follow me around like an imprinted duck, I’m gonna make damn sure you’re useful.”_

_Useful._ Useful _. He wanted to be useful. He_ needed _to be useful. He stood tall and said, “Yes. Thank you.”_

_John stared at him a moment, then his eyes softened. He remembered that. That was something John did. Everything else about him would remain tough, rigid, even angry. It was his eyes that gave him away._

_“Dean loves this car,” John said, suddenly stern as he pointed to the car they were both about to enter. Dean. Green eyes. That was John’s son. “I’m serious. He’ll have both our necks if we wreck this.”_

_He looked at the car, slowly, from hood to trunk. He felt himself smile. The man with the green eyes loved this car. This car, it was a connection to the green-eyed son. The man with the cocky smirk and soft eyes. The man who called John every night. The man John ate pie for._

_“Hey!” he heard a deep, sharp voice. He jerked his head up to find John scowling at him – well, what would be scowling. Except his eyes twinkled and sparked with clear fondness and humor. “Stop daydreaming about my son and get in the goddamn car!”_

__

Dean always preferred Chinese food when working a case. That way he could get out some aggression by stabbing the food without it spilling from the container.

Jo and Dean suited up after they left New Life and interviewed Tessa’s family. Her family hadn’t heard much from her lately, but they assumed she was off enjoying the newly wed life. Apparently, Tessa had eloped. No one had met her new husband yet, but it wasn’t uncommon for Tessa to be a loner. They really only saw her during the holidays, and even then, sometimes she wouldn’t come. However, they painted a picture of a kind, caring woman.

Next, Dean and Jo broke into Tessa’s apartment, where she obviously lived alone. It looked like she packed in a hurry judging by the items she left behind, but it was hard to tell exactly how quickly she got out of there since someone had obviously searched her apartment, making a mess of things. They checked with the landlord, and the apartment was rented out for another five months.

Now, Dean and Jo were in Jo’s motel room, brainstorming and eating.

“There’s only two reasons why she would turn tail and run. Either she’s involved, or also being threatened,” Dean said around some noodles.

“It could go either way, really,” Jo hummed, crunching on some orange chicken.

“Why would someone threaten her, though?” Dean asked. “She never once seemed to know more than anyone else about the murder, and she quit almost immediately afterwards, so there wasn’t really any chance of her learning something she shouldn’t know.”

“Unless,” she continued his thought, “the reason why she quit immediately afterwards and made sure she was unavailable was because she was threatened right away.”

“Cas did get her for help after he called 911. The report says that he tried to tell the nurses everything he could before he forgot.”

Jo nodded. “Well, either way, she’s involved somehow. If only we could find a way to reach her…”

Dean stabbed into his noodles with his fork. “We need to think about tonight.”

Dean had sent Sam a text telling him not to wait up for him with a winky face, purposely causing Sam to immediately assume the reason Dean had been out so late the past few nights was because he was chasing someone. Sam told him to use protection and to not wake him up when he came home.

That got Sam off his back, but he still had Cas calling him every thirty minutes. Missouri tried to stretch it to forty, but Cas was sundown’ing and apparently did better when talking to Dean. However badly he felt about using Cas earlier that day, he and Jo were using him again to judge how things at New Life were going.

Because since their plan was a bust, that left one best option at freeing the security cluster for Charlie: breaking into New Life after lights out.

Jo was excited, naturally, and really only convinced Dean of the plan by reminding him that this way, they could test security and try to find out how someone could have broken in to kill Hannah – if someone did.

Charlie was already all set for when they were ready. She was going to cause distractions by setting off small alarms and motion detectors – New Life’s new ones that already had some glitches and would explain away any questions as to why they would randomly go off. Jo’s pretend interview from earlier confirmed security had to check out every single alert too.  Jo and Dean just about had the blueprints memorized, so Dean hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to navigate.

After they finished eating, Dean left Jo’s motel for his father’s storage unit. He changed into dark jeans and a plain black long-sleeve shirt. He also piled a bunch of newspapers and an expensive bottle of the Kraken into the box his new printer came in, taped it up, and slapped on an address label.

He hoped that fulfilled Ash’s request to not make what he was sending obvious, and it just looked like Ash ordered a printer.

He took the box with him back to Jo’s, so she could mail it for him in the morning, and then Jo and Dean swapped out Jo’s truck tags again and took off.

“Here,” Jo said after she parked down the street from the hospital. She held out a small, black box. Dean opened it to find an ear piece.

“Really?” he asked. “We aren’t spies, Jo.”

“Okay, one, what we’re doing totally counts as spy work, and two, it was Charlie’s idea, so she could talk to us while we’re in there.”

Dean raised a brow.

“Go on, Winchester,” Jo smirked. “Be like Bond. James Bond.”

Dean snorted, but quickly took the ear piece, turned it on, and shoved it in his ear.

“This is Bond… James Bond. How may I save the world?” he said in a rather good impression of Sean Connery, he thought.

“She’s not on there yet,” Jo snickered, unlocking her phone.

“Well, hurry up.”

“I have to connect the Bluetooth.”

“It doesn’t take five million years to connect Bluetooth.”

“Uh, it’s a brand new, fresh from the box device,” Jo argued. “So, yeah, it takes five million years.”

“Go on about the mechanism,” Dean said, again in his Sean Connery voice.

“I ain’t no Tatiana, so that reference better stop there. And, hey,” she frowned, “that’s the wrong movie. Sean Connery didn’t play in that.”

“Yeah, he did,” Dean corrected. “ _From Russia With Love_ , that was Sean Connery.”

“Nah-uh, Roger Moore.”

“Shut your face – it was Sean Connery.”

“It was Roger Moore.”

“What was?” came Charlie’s voice floating through the ear piece.

“ _From Russia With Love_ , that was Roger Moore,” Jo answered, having must have heard Charlie through an ear piece of her own.

“Nope – Sean Connery,” Charlie said.

“Oh, for pete’s sake,” Jo threw up her hands. “Fine. But when I look it up later and find out I’m right, I’m so rubbing it in your faces.”

“Fair enough,” Charlie laughed.

“So, it’s all set up then,” Dean gestured to Jo’s phone.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You gonna do the Bond thing?”

“Moment’s over,” Dean said dejectedly, opening the car door and grumpily getting out as the girls laughed at him.

Jo threw her bag over her shoulder as she got out as well, and she and Dean began the slow trek to the hospital, staying hidden in the shadows.

“Alright, Charlie,” Dean opened, “how are you going to trip the alarms?”

“Easy. I hacked into the electric company’s computers. The sensors need electricity, so I’m going to use that to manipulate them. Once Jo gets rid of that blocker, I’ll be able to get into the security cluster and have access to everything.”

“Charlie,” Jo said, “do you ever scare yourself with your talents?”

“Sometimes,” Charlie sighed almost dreamily.

“Focus,” Dean said, becoming more serious as they approached the building. “We’re almost at the perimeter, south side.”

“Okay,” Charlie said, “north side, tripping the first alarm… now.”

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t hear anything. The alarms they were tripping were ones that sent the security guards an alert – not considered urgent enough to wake the whole building or something.

After Charlie tripped two more alarms and a motion detector, Dean and Jo felt confident enough that no one was watching the cameras and booked it across the yard and to the back of the hospital.

“Jo, double checking the count, how many false alerts at one time are they used to getting with the new system?”

“Dude said ten was the average,” Jo answered as she and Dean stood on either side of a door, and Dean checked if it was locked.

It was, so Dean squatted in front of it and began picking it.

“Okay, so if we push it to twelve or fourteen, it won’t be that suspicious?” Charlie asked.

“That’s the thinking,” Jo said.

With a click, Dean got the door opened, and they snuck in.

They had entered through the kitchen, a place that had both staff hallway connections and no automatic lights. It was also the room with the least cameras and overall security since no one particularly enjoys watching a bunch of cooks.

They crept down a hallway, through a couple of doors, taking care to stay in the shadows and dark corners. Cracking open one door that led to the security hallway, they paused to listen as Charlie tripped some more alarms.

“Alright,” they heard a gruff voice, “that’s the eighth in that area. Ted, Conner, you go check it out and reset ‘em. Me and Ray will reset the ones on the west side.”

They heard a whine. “Why me?” the voice said. “I just got back from resetting the others.”

“Because,” the first voice answered, “Ben and Kelly are still on patrol. If there’s a loose nut out there, Conner’ll need backup.”

“Fine,” the one who must have been Ted said. “Come on, Conny.”

Another voice grumbled, then the first voice and a new one, had to be Ray, began talking quietly. There was the sound of some doors closing, then the voices got further and further away. Jo and Dean waited until they heard another door shut, signaling the guards leaving the security hallway, and then quickly made their way to the control room.

Jo squatted this time to pick the lock, and Dean stood watch.

“Hurry up,” he hissed.

“Fuck you,” Jo replied, with no heat, then the door clicked, and she pushed it open.

Jo went inside, already clutching her bag, and Dean stepped inside as well, staying by the door and closing it almost all the way but leaving enough of a crack for him to see.

“I don’t like how easy this is,” Dean announced.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Jo readily said. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Charlie began giving Jo instructions which Dean tuned out, and he bit his lip, keeping an eye scanning the area around the control room.

Two minutes passed in an agonizingly slow pace, then a door banged open from the other side of the hall.

“We’ve got company,” Dean informed, listening to the newcomer’s footsteps.

“Goddamnit,” Jo snarled.

“We still need three minutes,” Charlie said.

Dean glanced at the security camera that was pointed right at his face and clenched his jaw. If the newcomer got to the surveillance room, the jig was up.

“Try making it two,” Dean grunted as he pulled out his ear piece, turned it off, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then, with a deep breath, he threw on what he hoped was one of his more charming smiles and swaggered into the hallway and around a corner.

The newcomer was a woman with mousy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and was wearing a security guard uniform that, quite frankly, was not very flattering. Must be the Kelly that dude mentioned, Dean realized, coming back from patrol.

“Finally,” he said loudly, causing Kelly, who was looking down at her phone, to jump. “I’ve been looking all over for one of you guys!”

Kelly frowned, hand on her taser gun. “Who are you? How’d you get down here?”

“Calm down,” Dean smiled, lifting up his palms. He continued to walk forward, albeit slowly, making sure to put himself between her and the surveillance and control room. “Look, it’s fine, I’m not dangerous or anything.

“You see, my friend called me. He’s been having a real tough time about nights lately. He’s on some new meds, too, and y’know, they haven’t built up in his system or something yet. Y’know, medicine things.” He sighed as though to sound put out and hated himself for using Cas for a third time. “And he called me, all freaking out because he’s scared of nights now, and he wouldn’t calm down, and he wouldn’t get a nurse, and then he just hung up. I’ve tried calling back over and over, and no answer. I got worried, so here I am.”

Kelly was squinting at him as though trying to decide whether to believe him or not.

“Seriously,” Dean pressed. “Look.” He pulled out his cell phone, unlocked it, then showed her his call log, scrolling to both keep her from seeing that Cas hadn’t called in a few hours, thus busting his lie, and to show off the seriously long list of New Life Psychiatric Hospital’s.

Kelly made a pained expression. “That’s just from this week?”

“Yep,” he answered, locking and pocketing his phone.

By this time, he was just mere feet from her, and he smiled down, trying to read which way this was going to go. Judging by the softening of Kelly’s eyes and the slowly relaxing shoulders, it was going to go just fine.

“Yeah, a lot of patients have been spooked since… well, I’m sure you’ve heard…”

“Oh yeah,” Dean agreed. “Trust me, I’ve heard all about it.”

“She was a good egg,” Kelly sighed. “Anyway, you really shouldn’t be here.”

“I know; I know, but I couldn’t find anyone. I mean, it’s not like my friend to not pick up the phone.”

“Who’s the friend?” she asked, a bit of security guard-ness coming back to her.

“Castiel.”

Kelly frowned then realization dawned on her. “Are you the cute one Castiel tried to leave with today?”

Dean chuckled. “That’d be me.”

“You gave them quite the heart attack,” Kelly chuckled too. “Ben said he watched the whole thing on surveillance. Said he wished he had popcorn.”

Dean gave her a relaxed smile, but the wheels in his brain didn’t slow down. It instead gave him the list of names he and Jo overheard not ten minutes ago.

“Ben?” Dean asked, keeping his voice casual.

“Hm? Oh. Another guard. Good egg, too; always the first to volunteer for double shifts. He’s around here somewh – “

“I’m right here,” came a voice from behind Dean.

Dean spun around to find an average looking man with a hard expression rounding the corner that led to the control room – and to Dean’s panic, there, with her arm in his grasp, was Jo.

“And look what I found. This is the same snoopy journalist from this afternoon.”

Kelly was back in suspicious-guard-mode, hand back on her taser gun, and Dean backed away a little, to give the impression he had nothing to do with this while also getting in a better position to attack if need be, since, well, he had everything to do with this.

“It’s called _investigative_ journalism!” Jo shrieked, somehow managing to sound extremely passionate and thoroughly unthreatening while also flashing Dean a pointed but subtle thumbs-up to let him know their goal was met.

One glance at both Kelly and Ben told Dean they didn’t see it.

Jo was continuing without missing a beat, “Do you think Christiane Amanpour got where she is by obeying ‘employee only’ signs?! Huh? No! That’s right – no! She would have not! You claim to have some of the best security, but even while I was here, a patient tries to flee! And why would that be, huh?”

She stood on her tippy-toes, squinting hard at the Ben guy and getting in his space, pointing a finger.

“Why would a patient try to break out, huh? What are you hiding? Electroshock? Chemically induced seizures? Phrenology? Malaria therapy?! It’s just the syph, man, just the syph! But are you people done experimenting? No. If I find any patients with syphilis, will they be the same patients with malaria? Is that what you’re hiding?”

“No one has malaria,” Ben spat, face struggling between confused and angry. “And… what the fuck?”

“There you are, sugar,” called a familiar voice.

Dean spun around again, and to his surprise, Missouri was there, calmly walking down the hallway straight toward them.

“Missouri?”

“Do you know these two?” Kelly asked.

“I know him,” Missouri pointed at Dean. “You should’ve just come on up, sugar. No need to bother security.”

“Can you confirm this man is here for the patient Castiel?” Kelly asked, all professional.

“Absolutely. Come on, Dean, let’s go check on him.”

“Castiel?” Jo asked, sounding excited, though Dean knew she was more concerned with finding a way to get out of the cops being called than actually being that dedicated to her role. “He’s the patient that tried to make a run for it, isn’t he? He –“

She made to step forward only to be stopped by Ben’s hand that was still on her arm. She swatted at it a couple of times to make him let go then stepped up to Missouri.

“Ma’am, does Castiel have syphilis and/or malaria?”

“No one has malaria!” Ben exclaimed.

Missouri looked to be trying really hard not to laugh. “Why don’t you come, too, hun. I don’t want you breakin’ into my ward to get a quote.”

“Oh, no, we’re locking that psycho up in Tony’s office and calling the police,” Ben announced, crossing his arms.

Missouri fixed Ben with an impressive glare. “Don’t you remember a time when you were passionate about your work, Benjamin? Just because you aren’t where you want to be, don’t mean you should take it out on this young woman.”

“She broke into the hospital!” Ben argued.

“Benjamin,” Missouri warned.

Ben’s nostrils flared.

“Come on, babies,” Missouri cooed, ushering Jo and Dean down the hallway.

“You let the others know,” Dean heard Ben tell Kelly. “I’m going with them, make sure that bitch don’t do nothin’ crazy.”

Jo and Dean caught each other’s eye and smirked.

__

To Dean’s utter surprise, Missouri led them to the elevators, pressed the button for the second floor once the four of them were inside, and led Jo and Dean right to the residential rooms.

“Uh, Missouri,” Dean whispered to her as Jo began spitting off more ridiculous theories to Ben. “We don’t actually have to see Cas. If he’s sleeping, then – “

“Oh, you gotta see him if you want your cover to hold,” Missouri winked at him.

“How…”

“Now, Dean, give me a little credit. Like you would’ve accidentally led Castiel outside?” She shook her head and made a nuh-uh sound. “Figured you were up to somethin’, and you’d be back.”

Dean, feeling somehow like a child caught red-handed, mumbled, “It’s not a bad somethin’.”

Missouri huffed a laugh.

Dean memorized the way to Cas’ room this time around, and he and Jo waited politely as Missouri knocked on the door. Ben elected to stay down the hall, arms tightly cross and scowl firmly in place.

The light in Cas’ room clicked on and shone underneath the door after the second knock, which Dean knew meant Cas was moving. It took two more knocks to guide Cas to the door, though, and to open it.

Cas was in black sweat pants that had HUFFLEPUFF written in yellow down one leg, and he wore a red t-shirt with the words THING TWO written in white. His hair was all over the place, and his face was scrunched up in adorable confusion. He had the heel of his palm rubbing at one eye, and as he looked at Missouri with the one visible eye, Jo elbowed Dean and whispered, “Aaww, Dean…”

Instead of answering Cas’ silent question, Missouri simply stepped aside, putting Dean in Cas’ direct eye line.

His arm dropped to his side, and he blinked at Dean for several moments, Dean watching as shift after shift flickered across Cas’ face as the poor thing tried to piece together why he was seeing Dean there in the middle of the night.

Dean was willing to wait to see what Cas’ brain landed on, but when he realized the shifting wasn’t slowing down, Dean gave an awkward wave. “Hey, Cas.”

That did get the shifting to stop, and Cas’ face took on a worried look through the obvious sleep that had him in its clutches.

“Dean,” he said, voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

“Uh…” Dean said awkwardly. “Just, uh… come to check on you?”

Confusion flickered across Cas’ face, then Cas was looking Dean up and down. A small smile pulled at his lips. “That’s sweet of you, Dean,” Cas said, then he stepped up and embraced Dean in a tight hug. “But you don’t have to wake me up when you go to work.”

“Uh,” Dean said again, gently patting Cas’ back and looking to both Jo and Missouri for a clue as to what that was supposed to mean.

Missouri was just smirking, though, and Jo, who had stepped away some to give them room, was giving Cas wide eyes like he was the most precious thing she had ever seen – and also had her lips pressed together in a thin line as though trying really hard not to laugh.

“Right,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Sorry to wake you, Cas.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you did.” Then he leaned back and –

Planted one, right on Dean, full lips pressing firmly against his, soft and moist, and happening so fast Dean acted on pure instinct, which apparently was to pucker his own lips to kiss back, and then just as quick, the lips were gone.

“Have a good day at work, Dean,” Cas smiled. “Tell John I said hello.”

“Uh…”

Cas leaned in and gave Dean another quick kiss before turning around and shuffling back into his room, crawling into bed.

“Uh…”

Missouri quietly shut Cas’ door, waving her hand over something causing the lights to go out, and as soon as the door was shut, Jo let out, “ _Pppfffhahahahaha!”_ through the hands she was pressing over her mouth.

“Oh, shut up!” Dean hissed, feeling himself blush – which was so not cool. Dean hadn’t blushed since he was a boy, and no way was goldfish-brains going to make him start now.

“Does he think you’re married? Dean, what the fuck?!” Jo giggled, though softly, peeking over to make sure Ben wasn’t hearing.

Dean looked, too, and wasn’t entirely surprised to see another security guard had joined him. Ben’s back was to them, but the new guard was glaring at them over Ben’s shoulder.

Dean tossed him a glare back because why the fuck not, then looked at Missouri. “Missouri, what just happened?”

Missouri was fighting her own laugh. “I believe Castiel just wished you a good day at work, sweetie.”

“Seriously?!” Dean hissed quietly. “You can’t be serious! How often does this happen? He can’t just go around, kissing people! That’s dangerous!”

Missouri was looking smug now. “He doesn’t go around kissin’ people. Apparently, that’s just for you.”

Dean blinked, then groaned, rubbing his own eyes. What _was_ Cas thinking? His brain didn’t make _any_ sense. It didn’t help that Dean had to actively fight the temptation to lick his lips and see if any of Cas’ taste was left on them. Yeah – no, that little bit was going directly into the _avoid-like-the-plague_ bin in his mind to never be looked at again.

“Don’t worry,” Missouri chuckled. “It’ll be forgotten by morning.”

“Not a chance,” Jo said as though Christmas had come early. “I am _never_ forgetting this. In fact, I’m texting Charlie right now.”

“Give me that,” Dean growled, trying to snatch Jo’s phone out of her hands, but she just blocked him easily, one thumb flying over her touch screen as she texted. “Awesome,” he complained.

“Well, come on,” Missouri said, putting an end to Jo’s teasing. “Unless you two got any more snooping to do, we best get you out of here.”

“We’re good,” Dean said. “Thanks, Missouri. You saved us a lot of trouble.”

Missouri chuckled, “Well worth the show.”

“Ha!” Jo barked discreetly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

The said goodbye to Missouri at the nurse’s station, and Jo and Dean climbed into the elevator with Ben and the security guard whose name Dean wasn’t sure of.

Jo cast them both a cautious glance before she said, all professional, “Castiel is a very interesting study. I’ll be fascinated to learn if the incident really will be forgotten, or if he’ll remember it.”

“God, let’s hope he doesn’t,” Dean groaned.

“Hard to tell these days,” the unnamed guard said, the bitterness and genuine anger in his voice so prominent it made Dean whip his head around in surprise. He was looking at Dean with pure disdain. “Castiel has been remembering all sorts of things since you started coming around.”

Dean balled his hands into fists. “What’s it to you?”

“Hey,” Ben interrupted, swatting the guy’s shoulder as the elevator doors opened. The guy obediently didn’t rise to the bait.

Dean resisted the urge to spit at the guy, and he and Jo were quiet as they escorted them out.

 They took different paths to Jo’s truck, just in case they could be seen leaving together, and once inside the truck’s cab, Dean said, “Rude fuckin’ dick. What was his problem?”

Jo shrugged, a smile on her face as she turned the truck on and pulled out onto the road. “Maybe he’s jealous,” she sang. “Maybe he wants all the little Cas-kisses to himself.”

Dean felt his face warm – because Jo’s fuckin’ heater was on full blast because she was truly the ice queen that could beat them all.

“Cas is out of his mind! He didn’t know what he was doing,” Dean said, cracking a window.

“Correction: Cas’ mind just outed him.”

“Fuck you. What happened doesn’t mean he’s gay or whatever. Besides, he probably can’t even remember his sexuality anyway.”

Jo giggled. “I think his body reminds him just fine.”

Dean pinched her, which just made her laugh harder.

“I wonder who John is though,” she said as she calmed down.

“Yeah, I picked up on that too. No clue. Maybe someone connected with the murder?”

“Or, I mean, you said he talks about your dad a lot, right?”

Dean shook his head and reached over to fiddle with the radio. “Yeah, but in a Dean’s-dad-is-senile-and-dead kind of way. Plus, I’ve never even told him Dad’s name.”

“Maybe he knew him?” Jo suggested. “And his brain was connecting the two of you?”

Dean snorted. “Cas know Dad? No way – fat chance in hell.”

__

_His eyes were closed, and he was inhaling the wonderful scent of honeysuckles._

_A phone rang._

_He opened his eyes to find himself in a motel room, its bedside phone ringing. He walked over to answer it – only to stop._

_There was a yellow, square note seemingly stuck to it that said: ONLY JOHN ANSWERS PHONE._

_He knew a John. He also knew he wasn’t John._

_Before he could ponder that too deeply, the door to the motel room slammed open, and the John he knew came stumbling in with plastic bags. The phone was still ringing, and John took one look at that, then him, and smiled. “Post-its work then?”_

_He smiled and walked over to take one of the bags – no, he was taking a cup holder with three disposable coffee containers in it. There was a note on it that said: WALK OUTSIDE AND TURN LEFT_

_He smiled down at it, raised his head, found the exit, and confidently walked outside. As he was turning left, he slammed into someone._

_“Sorry,” the person said as they stepped aside._

_He blinked, quickly assessed himself and concluded nothing hurt, nothing was wrong, then looked down to see what he was holding, and…_

_He was holding a cup holder with three disposable coffee containers in it._

_He frowned. Why? Why did he have this?_

_He turned, figuring it was best to go back whence he came. He slipped on a newspaper._

_“Jimmy!” he heard. He knew that voice – John._

_He looked down and saw he was on his knees, hip deep in snow. He shivered._

_“Jimmy,” John laughed, making him look over his shoulder at the man, “good try, but you kind of left the most important thing behind.”_

_John snickered as he helped him up._

_“Here,” John said, holding out a set of keys. “Can’t much open the gate without these.”_

_He smiled. “No. Thank you, John.” Then the words caught up with him. “Gate?”_

_He watched as the keys dropped into his opened hand._

_He watched as a drink was thrust into his hand._

_“Hey,” John said, clapping his shoulder and shaking it a little. He was in a room that looked to be a back room of some shop or another. There were several men there, all of whom seemed to be focused on a card game. “Coming back to earth?”_

_He shook his head, images of a similar scene without the cards and a green table holding guns and white bricks flashing before his eyes. “I think I remember something.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all suggestions, comments, corrections, and critiques (is that the right word?) are welcome - please be nice, but totally welcomed. Particularly when it comes to the murder mystery part. All opinions welcomed.
> 
> Please let me know what you think
> 
> Especially please, please let me know if I made you laugh at any point!!! It would do me so much good to know.

**Author's Note:**

> I beg for comments and reviews! (please be nice)
> 
> More still, if I made anyone laugh at any point, please please tell me. It does me so much good


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